npi  ;3  it  T  \  K   f 

The  Wr on g  Woman 

By  Gh arles  D.  S t ewart 


Charles  £).  &tetoart 


THE  WRONG  WOMAN.     Illustrated. 
PARTNERS  OF  PROVIDENCE.     Illustrated. 
ESSAYS   ON   THE    SPOT. 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


The  Wrong  Woman 


UNIV.   OF  CAUF.   MBit  A  MY.   F.OS 


SHE  SAW  THAT  SHE  WOULD  HAVE  TO  CONTINUE  HER 
JOURNEY  AFOOT  (p.   13) 


The 


Wrong  Woman 


BY 


Charles  D.  Stewart 


BOSTON  AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


1912 


COPYRIGHT,    1913,   BV   CHARLES  D.   STEWART 
ALL   RIGHTS    RESERVED 

Published  January  iqja 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

She  saw  that  she  would  have  to  continue  her 

journey  afoot  (page  13) Frontispiece 

The  stars,  a  vast  audience,  had  all  taken  their  places  62 

"There  's  number  one,"  Steve  remarked  casually  160 

In  the  very  midst  of  that  dread  ordeal,  a  test    .      .  264 

From  drawings  by  Harold  M.  Brett 


2133014 


The  Wrong  Woman 


CHAPTER   I 

HAVING  made  final  inspection  of  the  knots  of 
her  shoe-laces  and  the  fastenings  of  her  skirt, 
Janet  turned  toward  her  "perfectly  horrid"  oil- 
coat,  which,  as  usual,  had  spent  the  night  on  the 
floor.  As  it  would  never  come  off  till  she  had 
tortured  her  fingers  on  the  edges  of  its  big  rusty 
buttons,  she  always  parted  from  it  on  unpleasant 
terms,  casting  it  from  her ;  whereupon  this  mas- 
culine garment  fell  into  the  most  absurd  postures, 
sprawling  about  on  her  bedroom  floor,  or  even 
sitting  up,  drunkenly,  in  the  corner,  —  which 
latter  it  could  easily  do,  being  as  stiff  as  it  was 
yellow.  This  time  it  had  caught  by  one  arm  on 
the  back  of  a  chair,  and  it  came  so  near  standing 
alone  that  it  seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of  getting 
along  without  the  chair's  assistance.  As  Janet 
stood  considering  its  case,  she  turned  her  eyes 
toward  the  window  to  see  what  the  weather  had 
decided,  and  now  she  saw  the  farmer  leading  forth 

i 


The  Wrong  Woman 

her  pony.  She  went  to  the  window  and  opened  it 
wider. 

"Please,  Mr.  Wanger,  make  it  tight.  He  al- 
ways swells  himself  out  when  he  sees  he  is  going 
to  be  saddled.  Then,  when  he  has  gone  a  little 
distance,  he  lets  himself  in,  and  both  the  girths 
are  hanging  loose.  That 's  one  of  his  tricks." 

She  leaned  farther  out  and  made  further  ob- 
servation of  the  weather.  As  the  air  was  mild  and 
the  sky  serenely  blue  (though  you  can  never  tell 
about  a  Texas  Norther),  she  took  Sir  Slicker 
by  the  nape  of  his  collar-band  and  dropped  him 
out  of  the  window  to  be  lashed  to  the  saddle  ;  then 
she  turned  to  the  mirror  again,  and,  having  done 
the  best  she  could  with  the  hat,  she  went  to  take 
leave  of  the  farmer's  family,  who,  as  she  judged 
by  certain  sounds,  were  assembled  at  the  front  of 
the  house  awaiting  her  departure.  But  scarcely 
had  she  stepped  into  the  adjoining  room  and  shut 
the  door  behind  her,  when  the  buxom,  blue-eyed 
Lena,  rushing  in  from  the  porch,  met  her  with  a 
hug  that  was  more  like  a  welcome  than  a  leave- 
taking. 

"Oh,  goo-o-o-bye,  Missjaney.  I  am  so-o-o 
sorry.  I  t'ink  you  are  so-o-o  sweet  and  nice." 

2 


The  Wrong  Woman 

And  then  Lena,  whose  open  Swiss  nature  was 
either  at  the  summit  of  happiness  or  down  in  the 
valley  of  despair,  regarded  her  ruefully  for  a  space, 
and  after  one  more  hug  and  the  shedding  of  two 
large  healthy  tears,  accompanied  her  out  to  the 
porch.  There  the  Wangerswere  waiting  and  the 
children  standing  in  line  to  be  kissed  —  quite  as 
if  she  were  a  dear  relative,  or  at  least  an  acquaint- 
ance of  more  than  four  days' standing.  Janet  kissed 
them  all;  and  having  done  so  she  proceeded  to 
the  hitching-post,  followed  by  the  entire  family, 
down  to  little  Jacob,  who  stationed  himself  at  the 
very  heels  of  the  broncho,  and  was  so  far  forgotten 
by  them  all,  in  their  concern  with  Janet's  affairs, 
that  they  did  not  think  to  rescue  him  from  his 
perilous  situation  till  it  was  everlastingly  too  late, 
the  horse  having  by  that  time  moved  away.  And 
then  Jacob,  who  had  been  studying  his  elders 
closely,  after  the  manner  of  his  tribe,  guessed  the 
meaning  of  those  farewell  words  which  he  had 
not  been  able  to  understand ;  and  as  she  drew  away 
he  opened  his  mouth  and  bawled. 

Her  route,  which  lay  forty  miles  before  her  with 
but  one  stream  to  ford,  might  be  described  as 
simply  a  fenced  road  on  each  side  of  which  was 

3 


The  Wrong  Woman 

open  prairie  and  the  sky;  for,  though  this  land 
was  all  private  property,  the  holdings  were  so  vast 
that  the  rest  of  the  fence  could  not  be  seen  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach.  As  this  gave  the  roadside 
fence  the  appearance  of  not  inclosing  land  at  all, 
but  rather  of  inclosing  the  traveler  as  he  crossed 
over  the  vacant  waste  from  town  to  town,  the 
stretch  of  wire  seemed  to  belong  to  the  road  it- 
self as  properly  as  a  hand-rail  belongs  to  abridge; 
and  this  expansive  scene,  while  it  was  somewhat 
rolling,  was  of  so  uniform  and  unaccentuated  a 
character  in  the  whole,  and  so  lacking  in  features 
to  arrest  the  eye,  that  the  road  might  be  said  to 
pass  nothing  but  its  own  fence-posts. 

For  a  while  Janet's  thoughts  dwelt  upon  her 
experience  with  the  farmer's  family,  the  final  scene 
of  which  now  impressed  her  more  deeply  as  she 
realized  how  promptly  these  good  folk  had  opened 
their  hearts  to  receive  her,  and  how  genuine  was 
their  sorrow  at  seeing  her  go;  and  this  reflection 
imparted  so  pleasant  a  flavor  to  the  world  that  her 
mind  kept  reenacting  that  simple  scene  of  leave- 
taking.  But  when  she  had  got  well  out  to  sea, — 
for  that  is  the  effect  of  it  except  that  the  stretch  of 
wire  puts  the  mind  in  a  sort  of  telegraphic  touch 

4 


The  Wrong  Woman 

with  theworld, —  she  drifted  along  contemplating 
the  prairie  at  large,  all  putting  forth  in  spring 
flowers,  and  for  a  time  she  seemed  to  have  ridden 
quite  out  of  the  Past;  but  finally,  recalling  her 
affairs,  her  mind  projected  itself  forward  and  she 
fell  to  wondering  what  the  Future  might  have  in 
store. 

There  was  nothing  to  answer  her,  and  little  to 
interrupt  her  speculations.  About  the  middle  of 
the  forenoon,  or  later,  she  encountered  a  fellow- 
traveler  in  the  person  of  a  cowboy  on  a  bay  pony. 
At  first  a  mere  speck  in  the  distance,  he  grew 
steadily  on  her  vision,  and  then  went  riding  past, 
life-size  and  lifting  his  sombrero;  which  salute 
she  acknowledged  pleasantly,  smiling  and  inclin- 
ing her  head.  A  very  strong  fellow,  she  thought, 
whoever  he  might  be.  A  while  later,  as  she  was 
jogging  along  with  her  mind  on  the  horse,  whose 
need  of  a  drink  was  now  a  matter  of  growing 
concern  to  her,  she  came  to  where  a  wooden  gate 
opened  upon  the  roadside,  and  here,  after  a 
moment  of  doubtful  consideration,  she  entered ; 
and  having  closed  it  and  got  into  the  saddle  again 
by  means  of  its  bars,  she  struck  out  across  the 
prairie  with  the  intention  of  casting  about  until 

5 


The  Wrong  Woman 

she  should  come  upon  one  of  those  spring-fed 
water-holes  which  are  always  to  be  found,  here 
and  there,  upon  the  cattle  range.  For  a  time  it 
looked  as  if  her  horse  would  have  to  go  thirsty ; 
but  just  when  she  was  beginning  to  feel  that  she 
must  not  venture  farther,  she  found  herself  upon 
a  slight  rise  or  swell  from  which  she  made  out 
a  group  of  cattle  in  the  distance,  and  with  this 
promise  of  success  before  her  she  put  her  horse 
to  a  gallop  and  set  out  for  it,  slapping  him  with 
the  reins.  Presently,  the  ring  of  black  muck  be- 
coming plainly  visible,  she  knew  her  quest  was 
at  an  end ;  and  her  thirsty  animal  quickened  his 
pace  as  if  he  caught  scent  of  the  water. 

There  now  ensued  a  course  of  conduct  upon 
the  part  of  the  horse  which  was  strange.  There 
was  a  small  mesquite  bush  near  the  water-hole 
which  lay  directly  in  the  horse's  course,  and  Janet, 
seeing  he  was  almost  upon  it,  and  not  wishing 
him  to  leap  it,  as  a  running  cow-pony  will  often 
do,  gave  the  reins  a  jerk  to  make  him  dodge  it, 
the  which  he  did,  and  that  with  a  suddenness 
which  only  a  cow-pony  would  be  capable  of.  A 
cowboy's  horse  is  so  used  to  outdodging  wild 
cattle  that  such  a  sudden  turn  is  nothing  to  him. 

6 


The  Wrong  Woman 

But  now,  instead  of  going  to  drink,  he  gave  a 
leap  and  broke  into  a  mad  race,  splashing  right 
through  one  end  of  the  water-hole  and  continu- 
ing onward.  It  was  such  a  burst  of  speed  as  only 
the  wildest  rider  could  have  roused  him  to ;  and 
he  kept  it  up  despite  Janet's  efforts  to  stop  him. 
To  her,  it  seemed  as  if  no  horse  had  ever  gone 
at  such  a  pace  before.  At  every  leap  forward  she 
felt  as  if  he  must  shoot  straight  from  under  her. 
She  supposed  he  had  taken  fright  at  something; 
but  instead  of  slackening  his  pace  as  he  got 
farther  away,  he  rather  added  to  his  speed  like  a 
horse  in  a  race.  Though  there  was  nothing  ahead 
which  he  seemed  to  be  going  to,  and  nothing 
behind  which  he  could  now  be  running  from,  he 
did  not  abate  his  efforts;  he  pushed  forward  — 

As  one  pursued  with  yell  and  blow 
Still  treads  the  shadow  of  his  foe 
And  forward  bends  his  head. 

Poor  Janet,  utterly  ignorant  of  the  cause,  and 
knowing  not  whither  she  was  bound,  rode  a  mad 
ride  to  nowhere-in-particular.  At  times  she  pulled 
hard  on  the  bridle,  but  without  effect;  he  kept 
right  on  with  her.  She  clung  desperately  to  her 
seat.  There  was  nothing  for  her  to  do  but  ride  ; 

7 


The  Wrong  Woman 

and  so  many  strange  things  seemed  to  have  hap- 
pened at  once  that  she  was  almost  bewildered. 
Altogether  he  gave  her  a  ride  which,  in  her  own 
opinion  afterwards,  threw  into  insignificance  the 
adventures  of  Mazeppa  or  John  Gilpin,  or  even 
the  experiences  of  the  Ancient  Mariner  "alone 
on  a  wide,  wide  sea." 

The  reason  for  the  horse's  hurry  would  ap- 
pear to  be  a  very  good  one  when  brought  to 
light  and  explained ;  and  this  we  shall  probably 
be  expected  to  do  at  this  point,  an  historian  hav- 
ing no  choice  but  to  tell  what  actually  happened. 
There  had  been  a  mishap  in  the  saddle-bow. 
The  bow  is  that  little  arch  in  front  which,  when 
the  saddle  is  in  place,  fits  over  the  bony  ridge 
above  the  horse's  shoulders.  This  part  of  Janet's 
saddle,  instead  of  being  made  in  the  good  old- 
fashioned  way,  —  which  consists  in  selecting  the 
fork  of  a  tree  and  shaping  it  to  the  purpose,  — 
had  been  more  cheaply  manufactured  of  cast 
iron  ;  and  that  part  of  the  bow  which  clasps  the 
withers  and  sits  on  the  shoulders  spread  out  in 
the  form  of  iron  wings  or  plates.  The  saddle,  at 
some  time  in  its  history,  had  received  a  strain 
which  was  too  much  for  it,  and  one  of  the  iron 

8 


The  Wrong  Woman 

wings  broke  partly  across;  and  this  flaw,  hidden 
by  leather  and  padding,  had  been  lurking  in  the 
dark  and  biding  its  time.  When  Janet  braced 
her  foot  in  the  stirrup  and  made  the  horse  dodge, 
it  cracked  the  rest  of  the  way,  whereupon  the 
jagged  point  of  metal  pressed  into  his  shoulder 
with  her  weight  upon  it.  It  was  nothing  less 
than  this  that  was  spurring  him  on. 

A  saddle-bow,  into  which  the  horse's  shoulders 
press  like  a  wedge  (for  it  must  not  rest  its  weight 
on  top  of  the  withers),  needs  to  be  strong,  be- 
cause it  is  the  part  which  withstands  whatever 
weight  is  thrown  into  the  stirrups  in  mounting 
or  making  sudden  evolutions,  besides  which  it 
takes  whatever  strain  is  put  on  the  horn ;  in 
short,  it  is  what  holds  the  saddle  in  place.  With 
a  broken  bow  and  girths  that  are  none  too  tight, 
a  rider's  seat  is  but  temporary  at  the  best ;  and 
it  is  safe  to  say  that  Janet's  ride  was  not  quite  as 
long  as  it  seemed.  With  a  broken  bow  a  saddle 
must,  sooner  or  later,  start  to  turn,  —  and  it  is  a 
strange  sensation  to  upset  while  you  are  sitting 
properly  in  the  saddle  with  your  feet  in  the  stir- 
rups ;  it  is  impossible  seeming ;  and  with  a  wo- 
man, who  is  fastened  more  tightly  to  the  saddle 

9 


The  Wrong  Woman 

itself,  the  sliding  of  the  girth  on  the  horse's 
barrel  is  as  if  she  were  soon  going  to  be  riding 
upside  down. 

Janet,  sticking  valiantly  to  her  seat  and  riding 
like  a  trooper,  felt  suddenly  that  peculiar  sensa- 
tion and  had  a  moment's  horror  of  she  knew  not 
what.  The  next  she  was  aware  of  she  had  struck 
ground  in  some  confused  and  complicated  way 
and  quickly  got  herself  right  side  up.  And  while 
she  felt  that  she  ought  to  be  dead  or  at  least 
badly  injured,  she  had  done  nothing  worse  than 
to  crush  down  a  lot  of  spring  flowers.  And  there 
sat  Janet. 

Her  horse,  relieved  of  the  pressure  on  the 
sharp  iron,  and  brought  to  a  halt  by  her  final 
desperate  pull  on  the  reins,  was  standing  stock- 
still,  his  saddle  askew  like  a  Scotchman's  bonnet, 
and  his  ears  laid  back.  But  scarcely  had  she  lo- 
cated him  when  he  began  to  pitch  and  kick,  and 
with  the  surprising  result  that  the  saddle  slipped 
entirely  round. 

This  turn  of  affairs  was  hardly  calculated  to 
please  a  Texas  horse.  What  this  one  thought 
about  it,  Janet  very  soon  discovered ;  for  how- 
ever meekly  his  stubborn  spirit  had  given  in  to 

10 


The  Wrong  Woman 

certain  things,  he  had  not  consented  to  wear  a 
saddle  on  his  belly;  and  this  time  when  he 
pitched  he  seldom  used  earth  to  stand  on.  He 
came  down  on  this  hateful  globe  of  ours  only  to 
stamp  on  it  and  kick  it  away  from  beneath  him. 
Up  he  went  and  hung  in  space  a  moment  as  if 
he  were  being  hoisted  by  his  middle  and  came 
down  with  a  vengeance  that  jolted  a  snort  out 
of  him ;  and  up  he  went  again,  turning  end  for 
end  and  kicking  the  atmosphere  all  the  way 
round.  He  was  no  sooner  down  than  he  went 
up  again,  —  and  usually  with  a  twist  which  threw 
him  over  to  another  hateful  spot,  from  which  he 
flung  himself  as  if  it  were  hot.  And  all  the  time 
the  hooded  stirrup  flew  about  like  a  boot  on  a 
boneless  leg  and  kicked  him  fore  and  aft. 

Thoroughly  insulted,  he  pitched  by  a  mixture 
of  methods  which  amazed  Janet;  she  ran  farther 
back.  Now  she  beheld  a  fine  vaulting  movement, 
going  up  with  the  hoofs  together,  opening  out  in 
midair  and  coming  down  repeatedly  in  the  same 
place ;  and  here  he  worked  away  industriously, 
stretching  his  loins  with  the  regularity  of  a  ma- 
chine and  hitting  away  at  the  one  spot  in  space 
with  his  fine  punctuating  heels ;  then  he  settled 

ii 


The  Wrong  Woman 

down  to  a  short  shuttle-like  movement,  his  fore- 
legs out  stiff  and  his  head  down.  It  shook  the 
saddle  like  a  hopper ;  and  the  stirrup  danced  a 
jig.  In  this  movement  he  fairly  scribbled  him- 
self on  the  air,  in  red  and  white.  Finding  that 
this  did  not  accomplish  the  purpose,  he  went 
back  to  mixed  methods  a  while  and  threw  a  con- 
fusion of  side  jumps  and  twisting  leaps ;  and  then, 
after  a  particularly  fine  flight,  he  came  down  with 
a  heavy  lunge  and  paused.  He  was  standing  with 
one  of  his  own  feet  in  the  stirrup. 

Janet  would  now  hardly  have  been  surprised 
to  see  him  throw  a  somersault,  as,  indeed,  he 
seemed  on  the  point  of  doing  at  times  when  he 
stood  up  so  high  that  he  almost  went  over  back- 
wards. This  time,  after  a  moment  of  inaction,  he 
reared  again,  and  as  he  stood  up  with  his  hind 
hoof  in  the  stirrup  the  girth  strap  parted  and  the 
saddle  dropped  from  him.  He  jumped  suddenly 
aside  as  if  he  were  startled  at  his  success,  and 
finding  himself  rid  of  it  he  gave  a  final  flourish 
to  his  heels  and  galloped  away.  The  last  Janet 
saw  of  him,  he  was  going  over  a  knoll  with  a  cow 
running  on  before.  He  seemed  to  be  chasing  it. 
We  are  not  at  liberty  to  doubt  that  this  was  the 

12 


The  Wrong  Woman 

case,  for  many  a  cow-pony  takes  so  much  inter- 
est in  his  work  that  he  will  even  crowd  a  cow  as 
if  to  bite  her  tail,  and  outdodge  her  every  move. 
And  so  it  is  possible  that  Billy,  finding  a  cow 
running  before  him,  took  a  little  turn  at  his 
trade. 

Janet,  hatless,  her  hair  half-down  and  her  chate- 
laine bag  yawning  open,  had  thus  far  given  little 
thought  to  her  various  belongings  scattered  about 
in  the  grass ;  but  now  that  the  accident  was  all 
done  happening  and  she  saw  that  she  would  have 
to  continue  her  journey  afoot,  her  first  concern 
was  to  get  herself  together  again.  Luckily  the 
comb  and  the  hatpin  had  fallen  in  the  same  small 
territory  with  the  hat  and  were  easily  found  — 
though  the  hatpin,  standing  upright  amid  the 
flowers,  was  hard  to  distinguish  for  a  while ;  and 
the  contents  of  her  bag,  having  spilled  almost 
together,  were  soon  accounted  for  except  a  small 
circular  mirror.  This  was  very  difficult,  but  pre- 
sently she  caught  the  flash  of  it  in  the  grass  and 
gathered  it  up  also.  And  now,  ascertaining  the 
condition  of  her  hair,  she  went  to  the  place  that 
had  been  made  by  her  tumble  from  the  horse, 
and  seating  herself  in  it  tailor-fashion,  she  set  to 

'3 


The  Wrong  Woman 

work  pulling  out  hairpins  and  dropping  them 
into  her  lap  beside  the  rest  of  her  property. 

Having  her  hair  in  shape,  she  took  up  the  hat. 
This  part  of  her  apparel,  which  had  been  stepped 
on  without  detriment  but  needed  brushing,  might 
be  described  as  a  man's  hat  in  the  sense  that  its 
maker  had  not  intended  it  for  a  young  lady.  It 
was  a  black  hat,  of  soft  felt,  with  a  wide  flat  rim 
which  had  been  turned  up  in  front  and  fastened 
with  a  breastpin,  a  measure  which  had  obviously 
been  taken  because  the  rim  caught  the  wind  in 
such  a  way  as  to  cause  it  to  blow  down  over  the 
eyes  —  a  thing  which  a  true  sombrero  would  not 
do.  When  she  had  furbished  it  and  put  it  on,  she 
glanced  at  the  image  of  herself  in  her  lap,  and 
then,  having  held  the  little  mirror  at  a  distance 
to  better  view  the  effect,  she  took  it  off  and  set 
to  work  with  pins,  making  it  three-cornered. 
This  proved  to  be  quite  a  change ;  for  whatever 
it  might  be  said  to  look  like  in  her  hands,  it  be- 
came a  hat  the  moment  she  put  it  on;  it  had  an 
appearance  and  an  air ;  and  now  the  dark  surface 
lent  itself  all  to  contrast  with  her  light,  soft-hued 
hair  and  clear,  delicate  skin.  It  was  still  further 
improved,  when,  having  removed  it  again,  she 

H 


The  Wrong  Woman 

set  it  on  at  a  rakish  artillery  angle.  Possibly,  if 
hers  had  been  the  dark,  nut-brown  beauty,  she 
would  have  seen  that  she  looked  best  lurking  be- 
neath its  sombre  shade,  and  therefore  have  turned 
the  rim  down  some  way  to  even  increase  the 
shade ;  but  Janet  fitted  that  which  was  frank, 
open,  and  aboveboard.  And  so  she  used  the 
black  for  contrast  rather  than  obscurity  —  be- 
sides which  there  was  another  sort  of  contrast, 
for  a  soldier  hat  on  Janet  was  a  striking  foil  for 
her  utter  femininity.  And  its  romantic  pretense  (so 
different  from  the  dark  gypsy-like  romantic)  was 
such  an  arrant  little  piece  of  make-believe  that  it 
had  the  effect  of  playful  candor,  acknowledging 
how  impossible  a  man  she  would  make ;  and 
while  it  was,  strikingly,  a  pure  case  of  art  for 
art's  sake,  you  could  not  but  remark  how  much 
better  she  looked  in  it  than  any  soldier  could 
ever  have  done.  To  tell  the  truth,  we  do  not 
really  pretend  to  know  why  Janet  did  this,  or 
what  taught  her  how  to  do  it ;  anyway,  she  did 
it;  and  now,  having  so  easily  accomplished  one 
of  the  most  difficult  parts  of  a  self-made  woman, 
she  fixed  it  in  position  with  the  hatpin,  snapped 
shut  her  chatelaine  bag,  and  rose  to  go. 

'5 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Looking  forward  in  the  direction  she  had  turned 
to,  her  mind  began  to  be  crossed  with  doubts  as 
to  whether  that  was  the  right  way.  She  looked 
in  other  directions.  Then  she  turned  slowly  about. 
What  she  saw  was  simply  prairie  all  the  way 
round.  Which  part  of  that  horizon  had  she  come 
from  —  what  point  in  space?  There  is  nothing  so 
answerless. 

She  was  now  in  a  world  where  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  direction  except  that  one  side  was  oppos- 
ite the  other.  There  seemed  to  be  nowhere  that 
she  could  really  consider  as  a  Place!  The  spot 
where  she  had  been  sitting  seemed  to  be  a  place ; 
but  now  she  realized  that  she  could  go  far  from 
it  in  any  direction  and  still  be  resting  in  the 
middle  of  nature's  lap. 

How  she  strained  her  mind  out  to  the  very 
edge  of  things  and  tried  to  think!  What  endeavor 
she  made  to  get  out  of  her  mind  that  which  was 
not  in  it !  She  could  not  but  feel  that  it  was  all 
because  she  was  "  such  a  fool "  —  for  she  could 
hardly  believe  that  a  whole  country  could  be  so 
lacking  in  information. 

Poor  Janet !  She  even  looked  up  toward  the 
high  sun  and  wondered  what  kind  of  sailor  science 

16 


The  Wrong  Woman 

would  compel  him  to  divulge  his  relations  with 
a  certain  wooden  gate.  But  there  was  no  recogni- 
tion there,  no  acknowledgment.  The  four  quar- 
ters of  heaven  were  fitted  together  with  a  viewless 
joint.  All  was  silent.  Everything  was  a  secret. 

Of  course  she  finally  thought  of  the  obvious 
thing  to  do;  but  afterwards  she  was  sorry  that  she 
did,  for  that  was  just  how  she  lost  a  good  part 
of  the  afternoon.  She  found  traces  of  her  horse's 
course  —  here  some  flower  stems  had  been  broken, 
and  a  little  farther  on,  some  more;  and  now  that 
all  was  made  plain  she  took  her  slicker,  which 
was  tied  in  a  roll  behind  the  saddle,  and,  putting 
her  mind  straight  ahead  on  the  course,  she  set  out. 

In  his  high  gallop  her  horse  had  left  no  trail 
that  she  could  follow  as  a  path — nothing  butslight 
records  which  might  be  discovered  upon  close  and 
particular  search.  As  his  shoeless  feet  had  made 
little  or  no  impression  on  the  sward,  and  there 
were  wide  spaces  where  flowers  were  sparse,  she 
decided,  in  order  to  make  progress,  to  go  straight 
forward  in  the  direction  which  had  been  deter- 
mined, and  then,  if  the  fence  did  not  put  in  an 
appearance,  to  refer  to  the  trail  again. 

After  a  time,  seeing  nothing  ahead,  she  began 

17 


The  Wrong  Woman 

to  look  about,  this  side  and  that,  in  doubt;  and 
now,  being  "  all  turned  round"  again,  she  looked 
for  the  trail.  But  she  could  not  find  it.  Looking 
about  everywhere,  round  and  round  and  farther 
and  wider,  she  at  last  found  herself  inspecting 
her  own  footsteps  and  following  her  own  wan- 
dering path  ;  and  here  she  gave  it  up  utterly.  She 
knew  she  was  lost. 

Again  she  peered  out  at  a  point  in  space  and 
wondered  if  that  was  the  place  she  came  from. 
How  different  the  distance  looked  now  from  what 
it  did  when  she  saw  it  down  that  endless  road. 
That,  at  least,  gave  some  shape  to  the  future ;  and 
though  she  had  been  in  doubt  as  to  what  it  might 
be  like,  she  at  least  knew  it  was  there.  Now  the  fu- 
ture was  all  around  her.  A  thousand  futures  now  con- 
fronted her — all  done  up  alike  in  blue  and  awaiting 
her  chance  move,  this  direction  or  that;  whereby 
she  may  be  said  to  have  been  confronted  with  the 
world  as  it  is  —  a  veritable  old  wheel  of  fortune. 
But  she  had  to  do  something;  and  the  only  thing  to 
do  was  to  walk.  Making  up  her  mind  to  the  Some- 
where in  front  of  her,  she  simply  went  ahead;  for 
the  afternoon  was  going  and  the  night  was  sure  to 
come  —  a  prospect  that  filled  her  with  dread. 

18 


The  Wrong  Woman 

It  is  no  wonder  that  Lot's  wife  looked  back 
when  she  was  well  out  on  the  plain.  Probably 
she  wanted  to  see  where  she  was  going  —  so 
Janet  thought,  as  she  trudged  wearily  along.  Or 
possibly  the  poor  woman  wanted  to  make  sure 
that  she  was  going  at  all ;  for  when  you  are  walk- 
ing always  at  the  middle  of  things,  and  not  coming 
to  anything,  there  is  no  progress.  Janet  thought 
—  for  she  had  to  think  something  —  that  she 
knew  just  how  stationary  Lot's  wife  felt  when  she 
was  turned  into  a  pillar  of  salt.  Possibly,  if  the 
truth  were  known,  Lot's  wife  desired  to  be  turned 
into  a  pillar  of  salt  —  who  can  tell  ?  Janet,  walk- 
ing along  so  unrelated  and  ineffectual,  rather 
fancied  that  she  herself  might  want  to  be  turned 
into  a  salt-lick  (she  had  passed  one  all  worn  hol- 
low as  the  stone  of  Mecca  by  the  tongues  of 
many  Pilgrims) ;  because  if  she  were  such  a  thing 
she  would  not  be  so  utterly  useless  and  foolish 
under  the  eye  of  heaven.  But  still  she  kept  trudg- 
ing along,  feeling  the  growing  weight  of  the  slicker 
in  her  arms,  for  Janet  was  not  much  of  a  hand 
to  carry  anything  on  her  shoulder. 

Janet  walked  and  walked,  but  her  walking  did 
not  seem  to  have  any  effect  upon  that  endless 

19 


The  Wrong  Woman 

land.  The  fence  did  not  put  in  its  appearance, 
neither  did  a  house  nor  a  path,  nor  anything  else 
which  would  make  it  different  from  the  sky-covered 
plain  that  it  was.  It  persisted  in  being  itself,  world 
without  end,  amen.  To  make  matters  worse,  her 
shoe  began  to  hurt  (she  had  suspected  it  would 
and  taken  the  man's  promise  that  it  wouldn't), 
and  the  more  she  persevered  the  more  it  clamped 
her  toe  and  wrung  her  heel  and  drew  fire  to  her 
instep.  But  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  walk ; 
and  she  kept  on  with  her  footsteps  till  the  oper- 
ation became  monotonous.  Still  that  roadless  scene 
was  unmoved.  The  world  was  "round  like  an 
apple  "  ;  that  she  could  plainly  see.  And  as  to  her 
feelings,  this  globe  was  just  a  big  treadmill  under 
her  aching  feet. 

The  only  escape  from  such  tyranny  is  to  rise 
superior  to  it,  withdrawing  the  mind  from  its  ser- 
vice; so  she  decided  to  think  of  something  else. 
And  now,  as  she  went  on  with  no  company  but 
her  own  thoughts,  she  had  a  growing  realization, 
more  and  more  vivid,  of  her  fall  from  the  horse 
and  what  the  consequences  might  have  been.  It 
was  a  miraculous  escape,  due  to  no  management 
of  hers.  Suppose  she  had  been  disabled  ! — and 

20 


The  Wrong  Woman 

in  such  a  place  !  What  a  thought !  She  became 
frightened  at  what  was  past.  She  had  not  really 
thought  of  it  before;  and  now  that  she  did,  her 
imagination  was  thrown  wide  open  to  the  future, 
and  she  looked  into  the  possibilities  ahead  of  her. 
A  cow,  she  recalled,  has  been  known  to  attack 
even  a  horse  and  rider.  And  these  wild  range 
cattle;  how  might  they  take  the  presence  of  a 
woman,  never  having  seen  one  before  ?  There 
were  thousands  of  them  wandering  about  this  big 
place,  with  horns  that  spread  like  the  reach  of 
a  man's  arms.  Her  only  recourse  was  to  wish  she 
were  a  man.  This  was  a  favorite  wish  of  hers, 
indulged  in  upon  those  occasions  when  she  dis- 
covered that  she  had  been  a  "silly  coward"  or  a 
"perfect  fool."  After  all, she  considered,  a  woman 
is  n't  much  loss. 

"  And  it  came  to  pass,  when  they  had  brought 
them  forth  abroad,  that  he  said,  Escape  for  thy 
life ;  look  not  behind  thee,  neither  stay  thou  in 
all  the  plain;  escape  to  the  mountain,  lest  thou 
be  consumed.  .  .  .  But  his  wife  looked  back  from 
behind  him,  and  she  became  a  pillar  of  salt."  It 
was  an  old  Sunday-school  lesson.  And  Janet  had 
to  think  something. 


CHAPTER  II 

WHILE  Janet  was  determinedly  putting  her 
foot  down  on  pain  and  keeping  up  the  light  of 
faith  on  the  distant  sky-line,  another  and  quite 
separate  horizon  was  witnessing  a  little  incident 
of  its  own.  On  a  spot  on  the  prairie  which  was 
no  more  a  particular  place  than  any  other  part 
of  it,  a  lamb  was  born.  The  two  occupants  of 
those  parts,  a  man  and  a  dog  (not  to  mention  a 
flock  of  sheep),  were  soon  at  the  spot  where  it 
lay,  its  small  body  marking  down  in  white  the 
beginning  of  the  Season.  Nature  had  thus  dropped 
her  card  announcing  that  lambing-time  was  now 
here  ;  and  so  the  little  white  form  in  the  grass, 
meaning  so  much,  claimed  all  the  attention  due 
to  an  important  message  —  albeit  the  message  was 
delivered  with  somewhat  the  carelessness  of  a  hand- 
bill. The  man  stooped  over  and  looked  straight 
down  with  an  expression  at  once  pleased  and  per- 
plexed. As  coming  troubles  cast  their  shadows  be- 
fore, this  little  memento,  coming  on  ahead  of  a  gay 
and  giddy  throng,  raised  visions  of  troublous  and 

21 


The  Wrong  Woman 

erratic  times.  The  dog,  a  genteel,  white-ruffed 
collie,  sat  down  and  viewed  the  infant  with  a  fine 
look  of  high-browed  intelligence,  as  if  he  were  the 
physician  in  the  case.  The  lamb  was  an  old  friend 
of  his — just  back  from  nature's  laundry.  The 
newcomer,  about  a  minute  of  age  and  not  yet 
fully  aware  of  itself,  raised  its  round  white  poll 
and  looked  forthwith  a  fixed  gaze  as  foolishly  irre- 
sponsible as  if  it  were  a  lamb  that  had  just  fallen 
off  a  Christmas  tree. 

The  man  turned  and  strode  away,  leaving  the 
dog  on  watch  to  mark  the  place.  Just  below  a 
water-hole  near  by  was  a  place  thickly  covered 
with  dry  marsh  grass,  all  combed  over  by  the 
wind  and  matted  down  like  a  thatched  roof,  be- 
neath which  shelter  opossums  and  rabbits  ran 
about  in  tunnels  of  their  own  making.  To  this 
place  he  went,  and  having  grabbed  a  handful  of 
hay  from  the  convenient  mouth  of  a  burrow,  he 
returned  to  the  lamb,  and  kneeling  down  beside 
it  he  rubbed  it  into  a  comfortable  warmth  and  dry- 
ness.  Not  quite  satisfied  with  the  results  (there 
was  a  touch  of  chill  in  the  air),  he  produced  a  white 
pocket  handkerchief  which  had  not  yet  been  un- 
folded, and  he  used  this  to  perfect  the  work. 

23 


This  latter  touch  was  more  than  a  Texas  lamb 
can  reasonably  expect ;  but  there  were  distant 
circumstances  which  prompted  the  act,  and  the 
sentimental  effects  of  these  were  much  augmented 
by  the  fact  that  the  first  and  only  lamb  was  dis- 
owned by  its  mother.  She  had  given  it  a 
cold-eyed  look  and  walked  away  without  even  the 
formality  of  taking  its  scent.  As  she  was  now  back 
at  her  grazing  again,  it  was  plain  to  be  seen  that 
she  was  going  to  give  herself  no  further  concern  in 
the  matter ;  indeed,  it  was  likely  that  when  the 
lamb  should  come  forward  to  make  his  claims 
upon  her,  she  would  resent  and  oppose  such  in- 
timacy, sheep  being  different  from  other  animals 
in  this  regard.  The  man  felt,  naturally  enough, 
that  the  first-born  of  such  a  host,  and  the  repre- 
sentative of  so  many  idiots,  mothered  and  mother- 
less, who  were  soon  to  arrive,  deserved  a  better 
reception.  The  lamb  spelled  Duty  as  plain  as 
chalk  ;  and  so  he  rubbed  away,  with  a  look  of 
weighty  concern  which  almost  obliterated  the 
smile  with  which  he  began.  When  the  fleece  was 
perfectly  dry  and  warm  he  stood  up  to  await 
developments. 

By  this  time  the  lamb,  which  had  already  tried 
24 


The  Wrong  Woman 

to  stand  up,  decided  to  do  it.  It  got  part-way  up 
and  fell.  Again  it  came  up  on  its  stilts,  wavered 
drunkenly  and  collapsed.  It  had  made  a  mistake 
of  some  kind.  But  the  only  way  to  learn  walking 
is  to  do  it;  and  a  lamb,  being  more  ambitious 
than  either  a  colt  or  a  calf,  rises  at  once  and  starts 
right  in,  regardless  of  the  fact  that  it  does  not 
understand  the  machinery.  This  one  was  weak 
but  game ;  and  it  went  down  only  to  rise  again. 
It  went  in  for  a  course  of  Experience ;  and  fin- 
ally, having  got  the  hang  of  things,  it  was  balanc- 
ing on  all  fours  with  fair  prospects  of  success. 
Its  status  was  a  little  uncertain,  —  like  a  sailor 
just  landed  on  a  continent  which  seems  to  have 
been  drinking,  —  but  still  it  was  up  and  ready  to 
try  a  step  or  two  if  necessary.  But  now  the  dog, 
who  had  been  keeping  a  sharp  eye  on  every  move, 
became  so  personally  interested  that  he  gave  it  a 
poke  with  his  nose;  and  over  it  went.  This  must 
have  been  discouraging.  The  lamb,  dazed  for 
a  moment,  waited  for  the  spirit  to  move  it,  and 
up  it  came  again,  a  little  groggy  but  still  in  the 
ring.  It  staggered,  got  its  legs  crossed  and  dug 
its  nose  in  the  dirt,  but  by  using  that  for  an  ex- 
tra support  it  got  its  bearings  again  and  was  not 

25 


The  Wrong  Woman 

frustrated.  This  time  it  succeeded,  its  legs  widely 
braced.  With  the  general  demeanor  of  a  carpen- 
ter jack  it  continued  to  stand,  for  that  way  was 
solid  and  scientific ;  and  now  it  looked  straight 
ahead  for  the  sheep  that  was  not  present.  In  her 
place  was  empty  air  —  nothing.  This  not  being 
according  to  the  order  of  nature,  the  lamb  was 
at  its  wits'  end. 

The  man  in  the  case,  acting  upon  the  philo- 
sophy of  Mahomet,  gathered  up  the  lamb  and 
went  to  the  ewe  —  which  would  have  been  more 
easily  done  had  the  ewe  been  willing.  Having 
caught  her  and  made  her  fast  by  putting  her 
head  between  his  legs,  which  made  very  good 
stanchions,  he  hung  the  lamb  across  his  palm  and 
set  it  down  carefully  on  the  proper  spot  on  the 
prairie;  and  now,  everything  being  arranged  as 
such  things  should  be  arranged,  little  Me  went 
straightway  to  the  point,  his  underpinning  braced 
outward  like  the  legs  of  a  milking-stool. 

With  a  well-filled  stomach,  the  lamb  stared 
out  at  the  world  in  general,  and  seemed  greatly 
edified.  The  man  was  about  to  let  the  ewe  go, 
but  hesitated,  considering  that  after  she  got  back 
among  the  multitude  it  might  be  quite  a  while 

26 


The  Wrong  Woman 

before  the  lamb  would  have  another  chance.  He 
had  better  keep  her  till  he  had  made  sure  that 
the  lamb  could  not  hold  any  more.  The  lamb 
grew  visibly  in  gumption;  and  finally,  after 
another  swig  at  the  bar  of  life,  he  was  a  made 
lamb.  He  actually  started  to  walk.  His  steps, 
to  be  sure,  were  rather  theoretical  and  absent- 
minded,  and  as  he  had  not  yet  discovered  just 
where  earth  begins  and  air  leaves  off,  he  seemed 
to  be  putting  his  feet  into  places  that  were  not 
there;  but  considering  the  dizzy  height  of  his 
legs,  and  the  unevenness  of  this  wabbly  world, 
he  did  as  well  as  any  lamb  can  do  on  one  dose 
of  milk.  Once  he  seemed  to  be  struck  with  the 
idea  of  having  fun ;  he  gave  a  frisky  twitch  to  a 
leg  and  a  sort  of  little  jump-up  in  the  rear.  The 
man,  satisfied  with  this  evidence,  let  the  ewe  go, 
first  taking  the  precaution  to  mark  her  by  tying 
the  handkerchief  round  her  neck. 

All  of  which  took  but  a  short  while.  A  lamb, 
upon  arriving,  needs  a  few  moments  to  take 
notice  that  this  is  the  Earth;  but  he  has  not 
much  more  than  come  to  a  stop  when  he  real- 
izes that  it  is  the  place  for  refreshments.  For 
this  reason,  the  force  of  gravity  cannot  keep  a 

27 


The  Wrong  Woman 

good  lamb  down  ;  and  as  nature  has  provided  him 
with  just  enough  strength  to  rise  and  partake, 
the  sooner  he  is  about  it  the  better.  After  a  few 
draughts  from  the  fount  of  knowledge  his  educa- 
tion is  complete ;  and  it  is  not  many  days  till  sheep 
life  is  too  dull  for  him  and  he  must  lead  a  livelier 
career.  Mary's  lamb  "followed  her  to  school  one 
day,"  and  the  reason  he  followed  her  to  school 
was  (a  fact  never  before  published)  that  he 
thought  Mary  was  his  mother.  It  was  a  lamb 
whose  mother  had  disowned  him,  leaving  the 
responsibility  to  Mary.  And  if  there  were  any 
tag-ends  or  trimmings  on  Mary's  dress,  it  is  safe 
to  say  that  they  bore  evidence  of  having  been  in 
the  lamb's  mouth. 

The  present  lamb,  again  deserted  by  its  parent, 
was  completely  at  sea ;  and  not  having  anything 
to  attach  itself  to,  it  simply  kept  on  standing  up, 
which  was  plenty  of  exercise  for  it  just  now.  The 
man,  having  released  the  ewe,  who  went  back  to 
the  flock  with  an  inane  baa  which  reminded  a 
scattered  score  of  other  ewes  to  do  the  same,  now 
turned  his  attention  to  the  problem  of  carrying 
the  little  stranger.  As  this  visitation  was  entirely 
unlooked-for,  he  had  not  brought  the  Iamb-bag 

28 


The  Wrong  Woman 

along,  so  he  had  to  find  some  other  way.  His 
coat,  unbuttoned  at  the  top  for  the  better  inser- 
tion of  his  hand,  he  had  been  using  as  a  sort  of 
capacious  breast-pocket  in  which  he  stowed  his 
lunch  and  other  incumbrances.  One  side  of  it 
now  bulged  out  with  the  carcass  of  a  cotton-tail 
which  he  had  scared  out  of  the  marsh  grass,  to- 
gether with  various  conveniences  which  he  had 
brought  along  from  the  shack.  These  things  out 
of  the  way  there  would  be  room  for  the  lamb  to 
ride ;  he  therefore  spilled  every  thing  on  the  ground 
and  set  to  work  to  make  an  entirely  new  arrange- 
ment, pausing,  however,  when  he  had  unbuttoned 
his  coat  (he  had  left  his  vest  off)  to  observe  the 
present  state  of  his  white  shirt-front,  one  side  of 
which,  in  addition  to  its  generally  soiled  condi- 
tion and  the  darker  streak  which  marked  the 
pathway  of  his  hand,  had  now  a  crimson  spot 
from  the  head  of  the  cotton-tail.  That  side,  in 
comparison  with  the  spotless  and  polished  con- 
dition of  the  other,  presented  a  contrast  as  strik- 
ing as  did  the  new  white  lamb  and  the  weather- 
stained  flock.  Having  hung  the  rabbit  to  the 
canteen  strap,  he  put  the  lamb  in  where  it  was 
warm ;  and  now,  as  he  resumed  his  ramble  with 

29 


The  Wrong  Woman 

the  flock,  the  little  grass  orphan  (or  whatever  we 
may  call  an  orphan  whose  parents  are  both  liv- 
ing) bobbed  his  head  up  and  down  at  the  power- 
ful chest  of  his  protector,  and  looked  out  upon 
the  world  with  all  the  advantages,  and  none  of 
the  disadvantages,  of  having  been  born.  This 
way  with  the  young  had  previously  been  adopted 
by  the  aforesaid  Mrs.  O'Possum,  who  always 
carries  the  children  in  her  pocket;  and  whom  we 
may  imagine  noting  the  fact  in  terms  of  the  very 
highest  approval. 

It  had  been  his  intention  that  morning  to  get 
back  to  the  corral  at  an  earlier  hour  than  usual ; 
and  as  the  sun  was  well  past  meridian  he  ordered 
the  dog  out  to  turn  the  flock,  the  leaders  of  which 
were  now  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  The 
collie,  eager  for  work,  skirted  round  and  brought 
them  all  face-about  suddenly,  barking  his  threats 
along  the  van,  and  then  closed  in  some  stragglers, 
according  to  instructions  received  from  the  dis- 
tance. The  man  stayed  where  he  was  till  the  flock 
had  drifted  past  him  ;  then  he  took  his  place  at 
the  rear  again,  the  dog  falling  in  close  behind. 
He  idled  along  after  them,  revolving  in  his  mind 
his  plans  for  the  evening  —  some  boards  to  be 

30 


The  Wrong  Woman 

nailed  tight  on  the  storm-shed,  and  certain  repairs 
on  the  south  side  of  the  pen. 

Although  the  lamb  had  delayed  him,  the  sun 
was  still  above  the  horizon  as  he  drew  near  home 

—  if  a  word  which  means  so  much  may  be  applied 
to  a  herder's  shack.  A  shack  is  a  residence  about 
like  a  farmer's  smokehouse,  being  taller  than  it  is 
wide  or  long;  and  as  it  is  intended  only  for  sleep- 
ing purposes  there  is  just  enough  floor  space  to 
allow  for  a  door,  and  room  to  turn  yourself  in  as 
you  shut  the  door.  Its  breadth  is  equal  to  the 
length  of  a  Texan  when  he  lies  down  in  the  bunk 
built  into  it,  the  headboard  and  footboard  of  which 
are  the  walls  of  the  building  itself.  It  might  be 
called  a  bedroom  on  the  inside,  but  as  it  is  only 
a  two-story  bunk  boarded  in  and  roofed  over,  it 
is  more  properly  a  room-bed ;  or  rather  it  is  com- 
parable to  a  passage  at  sea  with  its  upper  and 
lower  bunk  and  the  surrounding  ocean  of  prairie 

—  a  sort  of  stateroom  in  the  flight  of  Time. 
The  architect  of  this  one  had  been  short  of  lum- 
ber, or  too  economical,  the  result  being  that  the 
present  occupant  was  a  trifle  too  long  for  it;  and 
he  had  considered  the  advisability  of  cutting  a 
little  window  in  the  side  to  let  his  feet  out.  Its 

31 


The  Wrong  Woman 

inconveniences  bothered  him  little,  however,  as 
he  spent  his  evenings  stretched  out  on  the  prairie 
by  the  fire.  It  was  so  far  from  being  Home  to  him 
that  he  never  felt  so  far  from  home  as  when  he 
entered  it ;  and  as  he  seldom  entered  it  except  in 
the  dark,  it  was  hardly  a  familiar  place  to  him. 
Outside  it  might  be  home  all  over;  inside  was  a 
timber  tomb  and  the  far-away  country  of  sleep. 
This  edifice  stood  on  a  low  knoll  from  the  heart 
of  which  issued  a  small  spring-fed  stream  which 
had  cut  itself  a  deep  ditch  or  gully  down  to  the 
general  level ;  and  on  the  slope  opposite  to  where 
the  stream  went  out  was  a  narrow  path  where  the 
sheep  ran  up.  The  little  eminence,  with  its  struc- 
tures, was  a  shanty  acropolis  to  a  universe  other- 
wise unimproved. 

It  was  to  this  place  he  was  at  last  coming,  his 
blatant  rabble  moving  gradually  together  as  they 
neared  their  familiar  destination.  Now  that  he 
felt  relieved  of  responsibility,  his  thoughts,  which 
had  hurried  on  before  him,  as  it  were,  dwelt  with 
much  satisfaction  upon  a  certain  little  prison-pen 
on  the  hill  ahead.  Once  arrived  here,  the  lamb, 
could  get  a  meal  from  his  unwilling  mother,  who 
would  be  confined  in  such  straits  in  the  narrow 

32 


The  Wrong  Woman 

little  pen  that  she  could  not  move  nor  help  her- 
self. The  advantages  of  this  arrangement  the 
lamb  would  make  full  use  of;  and  thereafter  he 
would  get  along  very  well,  interrupting  his  slum- 
bers at  any  time  and  supping  to  his  full  satisfac- 
tion. There  was  a  row  of  the  separate  little  stalls 
or  sheep  stocks  along  the  outside  of  the  corral, 
this  department  being  the  orphan  asylum  of  the 
community;  and  hereabouts  there  galloped  and 
capered,  in  springtime,  lambs  whose  mothers  had 
died  in  "  havin '  "  them,  lambs  whose  own  mothers 
were  too  poor  to  support  them,  and  most  fre- 
quently the  child  of  a  ewe  like  this. 

The  sheep  crowded  still  closer  together  as  they 
reached  the  beginning  of  the  sheep-path;  and  now 
the  man's  face  may  be  said  to  have  taken  on  two 
coats  of  expression  —  a  stern  judicial  look  with  a 
smile  underneath.  The  thought  that  he  was  about 
to  execute  Justice  occupied  his  mind  wholly  as 
the  old  wether  led  them  into  the  strait  and  narrow 
way.  With  the  object  of  catching  the  ewe,  he  ran 
on  ahead  toward  the  path,  beside  which  he  stationed 
himself,  halfway  up  the  hillock,  just  as  the  head 
of  the  column  was  coming;  and  when  the  misbe- 
haved mother  came  trotting  along  he  laid  hands 

33 


The  Wrong  Woman 

upon  her  and  pulled  her  out  of  the  procession. 
At  this,  the  lamb,  which  had  become  a  very  warm 
spot  on  his  breast,  said  something  which  sounded 
very  much  like  Ma-a-a;  whereupon  he  decided 
that  it  might  as  well  have  supper  at  once,  after 
which  it  could  follow  afoot.  The  lamb,  having 
been  carried  so  far  through  life,  came  down  rather 
carelessly  on  its  newly  unfolded  legs  and  stumbled ; 
but  it  soon  picked  up  what  it  had  learned  of  the 
laws  of  mechanics  and  fell  to  supper  forthwith. 
The  man  held  the  ewe  as  before,  and  when  he 
judged  the  lamb  held  a  sufficiency,  he  hauled  her 
away  toward  prison,  pulling  her  unceremoniously 
out  of  the  lamb's  mouth.  And  then  the  lamb,  in- 
stead of  following,  stood  braced  on  the  spot  as  if 
unable  to  comprehend  that  such  a  thing  was  pos- 
sible. It  let  out  a  quavering  complaint,  a  melt- 
ing infant  cry,  at  which  the  man  stopped  and 
turned  his  head,  and,  seeing  it  standing  there  and 
looking  ahead  in  a  wooden  sort  of  way,  he  returned 
to  get  it,  marching  the  ewe  down  the  hill  again. 
"I  hope  I'll  have  five  hundred  like  you,"  he 
said,  scooping  it  up  under  his  arm.  "Yes,  I  do. 
You'll  have  me  talking  to  myself  yet.  Yes,  you 
will." 

34 


The  Wrong  Woman 

For  a  sheep-man  to  talk  to  himself  is  considered 
a  bad  sign ;  but  the  present  hermit  had  no  chance 
to  go  farther  in  this  course.  The  dog,  dashing 
suddenly  ahead,  stopped  at  the  corner  of  the  shack 
and  growled.  So  occupied  had  the  herder  been 
with  his  distracting  duties  that  he  had  not  taken 
much  notice  of  the  shack  as  he  drew  nearer  to 
it;  but  now  that  the  dog  raised  the  alarm  he  looked 
and  saw  a  blue  wraith  of  smoke  hovering  over  the 
roof.  His  fire-hole,  it  seemed,  was  lit.  This  was 
not  unwelcome  news,  as  any  one  may  imagine 
who  has  lived  even  a  few  days  so  utterly  alone. 
But  whether  the  visitor  was  a  stranger  or  a  friend 
was  made  a  matter  of  doubt  by  the  conduct  of  the 
dog,  who  was  barking  and  growling  and  wagging 
his  tail.  And  his  only  change  in  conduct  towards 
his  friend  the  enemy  consisted  in  doing  it  all  more 
industriously,  making  threats  with  one  end  of 
himself  and  waving  a  welcome  with  the  other. 
But  no  sound  came  from  the  other  side  of  the 
shack.  The  intruder  did  not  stand  forth  and  show 
himself.  The  herder  wondered  that  his  approach 
had  not  been  discovered.  In  the  meantime  the 
ewe,  which  he  had  absent-mindedly  let  go  of,  had 
made  her  escape  and  was  again  mingling  with  the 

35 


The  Wrong  Woman 

multitude  which  was  now  running  pell-mell  into 
the  corral.  It  seemed  strange  that  the  person  be- 
hind the  shack  did  not  step  forth.  Being  now  free 
of  the  ewe  (who  had  in  no  wise  thwarted  Justice 
by  her  act),  he  proceeded  to  investigate  his  home. 
And  when  he  reached  the  corner  of  the  shack  he 
saw  —  a  Woman. 

A  Woman.  At  a  sheep-shack.  She  had  his  tin 
stew-pan  on  the  fire  and  was  bending  over  it, 
samplingthe  contents.  On  the  ground  was  a  strange 
sight — twopiecesof  pie,  two  peaches,  half  a  chick- 
en, sandwiches,  —  some  with  ham  and  some  with 
jam,  —  pickles  and  cheese.  And  the  coffee-pot 
under  full  steam.  The  large-hearted  and  healthy 
Lena  had  put  all  this  into  the  package  rolled 
into  the  slicker.  It  was  partly  this  that  had  made 
Janet's  burden  so  heavy. 

The  man's  jaw  dropped,  as  almost  did  the  lamb ; 
but  catching  himself  in  time  he  hugged  it  closer 
with  unconscious  strength.  The  woman  replaced 
the  cover  on  the  stew-pan,  straightened  up,  and 
spoke. 

"Good-evening,"  she  said.  This  in  a  tone  of 
positive  welcome  (possibly  a  little  overdone). 

"  How  do  you  do,"  he  replied. 

36 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  I  have  just  been  making  use  of  your  fire-hole. 
And  your  coffee-pot.  You  see  I  was  —  I  was  —  " 

"  Oh,  that 's  all  right.  That 's  all  right.  Just 
make  yourself  right  at  home.  Are  the  men  folks 
gone  somewhere  ?  "  He  cast  his  eyes  about. 

"There  are  no —  no  men  folks.  You  see  I  was 
just  coming  along  by  myself — alone  —  without 
anybody  —  any  men  folks."  These  words  nearly 
choked  her.  But  immediately  she  added,  with  the 
most  brightening  smile,  "  I  was  so  frightened  by 
your  dog.  He  scared  me  so." 

Having  said  this,  she  dropped  her  eyes  to  the 
stew-pan,  the  contents  of  which  seemed  to  need 
attention  just  at  that  moment. 

"  Oh,  he  won't  bite.  Anyway,  he  won't  bite 
you.  He  knows  ladies." 

"  I  am  so  afraid  of  them,"  she  said,  her  eyes 
still  occupied. 

She  needed  a  moment  to  recover  her  courage, 
thinking  rapidly.  And  as  for  the  man,  he  thought 
nothing  whatever;  he  just  looked.  She  was  bright- 
eyed  and  fair  and  wholly  perfect.  She  was  dressed 
in  plain  black,  with  deep  white  cuffs  which  turned 
back  upon  the  sleeves,  and  a  white  turnover  col- 
lar, as  neat  as  a  nun.  Offsetting,  somehow,  the 

37 


The  Wrong  Woman 

severity  of  this,  was  the  boyish  side-sweep  of  her 
hair,  and  the  watch-chain  looped  to  a  crocheted 
pocket  on  her  breast.  And  on  the  ground  lay  the 
soldierly  three-cornered  hat. 

To  a  man  who  had  been  expecting  to  come 
home  to  doughy  hot  bread  and  fried  rabbit  and 
solitude,  this  was  a  surprise.  It  was  somewhat  as 
if  Providence  had  taken  note  of  his  case  and  sent 
out  a  Sister  of  Charity ;  and  one  who  had  the 
charming  advantage  of  being  also  a  dimpled 
Daughter  of  the  Regiment.  Once  his  eye  had 
taken  in  the  regular  contour  of  her  nose  and  rested 
on  that  dimple,  his  gaze  did  not  wander.  He  did 
not  even  wink — it  would  have  been  a  complete 
loss  of  looking.  When  she  removed  the  lid  from 
the  saucepan  a  spicy  aroma  spread  itself  abroad. 
Dog  and  herder  sniffed  the  evening  air,  sampling 
the  new  odor.  It  was  a  whiff  of  Araby  the  Blest. 

"  As  I  was  just  going  to  explain, "  she  said, 
straightening  up  again,  "  I  had  an  accident  with 
my  horse.  I  came  in  here  to  find  a  water-hole 
and  he  ran  away  and  threw  me  off.  Then  I  found 
I  was  lost ";  and  she  went  on  to  relate  the  details 
of  her  adventure  up  to  the  time  of  her  arrival  at 
the  shack. 

38 


The  Wrong  Woman 

As  she  spoke,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  been  thrust 
out  into  the  middle  of  a  big  empty  stage  to  make 
a  speech  to  that  momentous  audience  of  one  man 
—  a  speech  upon  which  everything  depended. 
However  panic-stricken  she  might  be,  she  must 
not  show  it.  For  that  would  give  him  an  opening 
for  assurances,  for  allusions  which  would  have  to 
be  recognized,  for  asseverations  which  would 
have  to  be  formally  confided  in  —  intimacy.  And 
that  must  not  be.  The  least  betrayal  of  fear  by 
her  would  bring  it  about.  There  must  not  be 
even  the  suggestion  of  a  situation.  It  had  been 
a  godsend  that,  upon  the  first  failure  of  her  cour- 
age, the  dog  had  offered  himself  as  a  reason.  The 
dog  had  made  an  excellent  cover  for  her  trepida- 
tion. And  now  it  was  a  support  to  feel  that  the 
dog  was  walking  about —  an  object  upon  which  to 
saddle  her  nervous  apprehension  at  any  moment 
when  she  lost  control. 

She  delivered  her  speech  with  a  naturalness  and 
ease  which  surprised  her.  She  even  added  a  little 
high-handed  touch  or  two,  referring  to  the  aggra- 
vation of  being  thrown  by  one's  horse  and  thus 
delayed  in  one's  business;  not  to  speak  of  being 
made  such  an  intruder. 

39 


The  Wrong  Woman 

The  man  stood  and  listened  to  the  music  of 
her  voice.  As  she  began  to  speak  with  so  much 
ease,  he  was  smitten  with  a  consciousness  of  his 
personal  appearance,  with  the  four  awkward  legs 
dangling  down  in  front  of  him.  In  hope  of  making 
a  more  manly  figure  before  her,  he  set  the  lamb 
down,  feasting  his  eyes  meanwhile  upon  the 
dainty  repast  and  the  two  white  napkins  spread 
upon  the  ground.  And  when  he  stood  up  again, 
no  one  knew  less  than  he  whether  he  had  set 
the  lamb  on  its  legs  or  its  back  or  stood  it  on  its 
head.  It  now  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  not 
removed  his  hat.  He  did  so  immediately. 

"And  as  I  was  coming  across  the  range,"  she 
continued,  "  I  saw  your  place.  I  had  been  so 
tired  and  hungry  that  I  had  lost  my  appetite.  A 
person  does,  you  know.  But  I  was  just  dying 
for  a  cup  of  hot  coffee.  So  I  decided  to  use  your 
conveniences.  And  I  intended  to  leave  your 
fire-hole  burning  for  you  — " 

"  Oh,  that 's  all  right.    I  'm  glad  you  did." 

She  gave  a  sudden  little  scream.  This  was  so 
unexpected  that  the  man,  whose  nerves  were  not 
easily  touched,  drew  himself  up  straighter  and 
stared  at  her  in  amazement. 

40 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  Oo-o-o-o-o  !  "  she  exclaimed,  clasping  her 
hands  together  and  fixing  her  gaze  upon  the 
supper. 

It  was  the  lamb  again.  It  was  standing  right 
in  the  middle  of  the  feast,  its  legs  spread  as 
usual  and  one  foot  deep  in  the  sugar-bowl.  The 
lamb  was  waiting.  It  was  waiting  till  the  spirit 
should  move  it  to  the  next  idiotic  thing  to  do; 
and  it  would  no  doubt  have  achieved  it  had  not 
the  man  taken  quick  action.  He  seized  upon  the 
lamb  precipitately  and  snatched  it  away;  then  he 
stood  with  one  hand  around  its  middle  and  its 
long  legs  hanging  down,  with  the  four  hoofs  to- 
gether. 

"Oh,  isn't  that  a  sw-e-e-et  little  lamb!"  she 
exclaimed,  delightedly.  "  Oh,  is  nt  he  a  darling!  " 

"Well  —  yes,"  said  the  man,  holding  it  out 
and  regarding  it  critically.  "  It  was  certainly  try- 
ing to  be  a  sweet  little  lamb." 

She  blushed.  She  had  not  seen  the  lamb  all 
by  himself,  before;  and  these  were  the  first  free 
and  natural  words  she  had  spoken.  After  this 
spontaneous  outburst  she  proceeded  more  guard- 
edly. 

"  And  after  the  coffee  was  on,"  she  continued, 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  I  thought  it  would  be  such  a  shame  for  a 
man  to  have  to  get  his  own  supper  after  I  had 
left,  with  so  much  to  eat.  So  I  intended  to  leave 
your  supper  for  you.  That  is  in  case  you  did  n't 
come  along  when  I  — I  —  You  see  I  did  n't  ex- 
pect you  home  so  early."  To  which  she  quickly 
added,  "You  know,  when  I  first  came  along,  I 
thought  the  place  might  possibly  be  vacant.  Of 
course,  I  had  to  go  in  and  see;  and  then, as  long 
as  I  had  already  made  so  free,  I  thought  I  might 
as  well  use  your  coffee-pot  and  things.  And 
your  coffee,  too." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right  —  perfectly  all  right. 
This  place  does  n't  all  belong  to  me.  There 's 
plenty  of  room  for  everybody." 

He  delivered  this  with  a  sweep  of  his  arm  that 
seemed  to  give  her  everything  inside  the  hori- 
zon, and  possibly  lap  over  the  edges. 

"  So  I  did  take  your  coffee  —  and  sugar.  And 
I  hope  you  '11  like  what  I  have." 

"Judging  by  the  looks,  it's  mighty  good. 
Perfectly  grand.  But  I  '11  go  now  and  put  this 
lamb  where  he  won't  be  scaring  us  again  Miss 

Excuse   me,  but  I   have  n't  asked  your 

name." 

42 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  My  name  is  Smith.  Janet  Smith." 

"  My  name  is  Brown.  Stephen  Brown.  Glad 
to  meet  you,  Miss  Smith." 

He  put  his  hat  to  his  head  in  order  to  take  it 
off.  She  acknowledged  the  formality  with  a 
slight  bow. 

"  I  '11  go  and  fix  this  lamb,"  he  resumed.  "  I 
intended  to  do  some  repairing  before  sundown ; 
that 's  why  I  came  home  a  little  early.  But  it 's 
rather  late  now  to  do  much.  There  's  other  work 
I  have  to  'tend  to,  though.  I  hope  it  won't  take 
very  long." 

So  saying,  he  started  away.  When  he  had 
gone  a  little  distance,  and  observed  that  the  dog 
was  remaining  behind,  an  interested  spectator,  he 
called  back :  "  Don't  mind  him  if  he  watches 
you.  His  name  is  Shep.  He  likes  ladies." 

Janet  finished  setting  Mr.  Brown's  table, 
which  consisted  of  a  place  where  the  grass  was 
worn  short.  When  he  was  working  among  the 
sheep  with  his  back  turned,  she  patted  the  dog 
on  the  head  with  the  greatest  familiarity.  Janet 
"loved"  dogs.  When  next  she  looked  up  to  see 
what  had  become  of  her  guest,  or  host,  he  was 
disappearing  in  the  deep  little  gully. 


CHAPTER   III 

WHEN  the  shack  rose  upon  her  vision,  Janet's 
spirits  gave  a  leap.  A  mere  box  it  was,  in  the  image 
of  a  house;  but  yet,  from  the  moment  its  coun- 
tenance appeared  on  the  scene,  that  lost  and  lorn 
prairie  seemed  to  have  found  a  place  for  itself. 
The  whole  interminable  region  attached  itself  to 
the  shack  and  became  a  front  and  back  yard ;  the 
landscape  was  situated  and  set  right,  knowing  its 
right  hand  from  its  left.  Four  walls,  a  roof,  and 
a  door — all  the  things  necessary  to  make  a  thresh- 
old, that  magic  line  across  which  woman  faces  the 
world  with  the  courage  of  divine  right.  At  the 
end  of  a  lonesome,  laborious  day  she  saw  it;  and 
she  hurried  to  it  with  a  sort  of  homing  instinct. 
Opening  the  door,  she  gave  a  start  and  stepped 
back.  Another's  "things  "  were  in  it.  Now  what 
should  she  do  ?  It  was  a  question  with  half  a  dozen 
answers;  and  they  all  said,  Go. 

Just  outside  the  door  was  a  box  with  a  hinged 
lid.  It  contained  kitchenware  and  supplies.  There 
was  the  coffee-pot  —  and  coffee.  As  there  was  no 

44 


The  Wrong  Woman 

one  in  sight  (rolling  ground  is  very  deceptive), 
she  decided  that,  tired  as  she  was  and  with  the 
journey  still  before  her,  this  opportunity  of  rest 
and  a  comfortable  supper,  with  plenty  of  strong 
hot  coffee,  ought  to  be  taken  advantage  of.  Then, 
as  soon  as  supper  was  over,  she  would  retire  from 
the  scene  and  consider  what  was  best  to  do.  She 
would  sit  down  and  try  her  courage  in  the  dark. 
Possibly,  under  cover  of  night,  she  would  come 
in  closer  to  his  camp-fire  and  sit  there  on  her 
slicker.  Or  maybe  there  would  be  two  men  !  But 
at  present  it  was  all  undecidable,  almost  unthink- 
able; she  must  take  this  little  respite  from  being 
lost  and  try  to  make  the  most  of  things. 

The  twigs  of  half-dried  mesquite  did  not  kindle 
readily.  With  fanning  and  blowing  the  fire  con- 
sumed a  great  deal  of  time  and  matches;  but  at 
last  it  got  itself  into  the  spirit  of  burning.  In  the 
midst  of  these  preparations  she  heard  the  bark  of 
a  dog  and  a  medley  of  baas,  and  looking  round 
the  corner  of  the  shack  she  saw  that  it  was  too 
late. 

When  Mr.  Brown  had  recovered  from  his  sur- 
prise and  excused  himself,  she  became  very  in- 
dustrious indeed,  flitting  about  on  the  little  space 

45 


The  Wrong  Woman 

of  ground  like  a  bird  in  a  cage.  Despite  her  con- 
fusion, her  mother  wit  was  still  with  her,  prompt- 
ing her  to  cover  her  agitation  with  the  appearance 
of  housewifely  activity ;  so  every  time  that  she 
beat  against  the  bars  of  her  situation  she  carried 

o 

a  fork  or  a  spoon  or  the  lid  of  something.  She 
set  his  place,  fed  the  fire,  put  on  more  coffee.  He 
continued  to  work  about  the  corral.  Though  the 
sight  of  him  was  not  quieting,  she  glanced  up  often 
enough  to  keep  track  of  him.  He  seemed  to  take 
his  time. 

Janet,  partially  blinded  by  too  much  attention 
to  the  fire,  looked  up  through  the  dusk  as  he  went 
to  the  edge  of  the  little  gully  and  descended.  He 
was  a  "  full  fathom  of  a  man,"  and  as  he  sank  from 
sight  his  length  seemed  to  go  right  down  through 
the  surface  of  things,  like  Hamlet's  father  re- 
tiring to  the  lower  regions.  When,  finally,  his 
head  had  disappeared,  she  dropped  her  pretense 
of  being  cheerfully  occupied  and  turned  her  at- 
tention in  another  direction.  She  looked  hard  at 
the  shack  —  its  door  half  open  and  the  two  bunks 
showing.  Her  brows  drew  closer  together,  with 
the  enigma  between  them.  That  little  Home,  to 
which  she  had  hurried  with  such  a  feeling  of  re- 

46 


The  Wrong  Woman 

lief,  had  taken  on  a  different  guise.  It  was  now 
the  place  she  must  get  away  from.  At  the  same 
time  black  night  was  coming  on  as  if  to  drive  her 
into  it.  The  sun  was  sinking.  In  the  east  the 
vanguard  of  darkness  was  already  advancing.  She 
gripped  her  chin  tensely  and  tried  to  think,  her 
forefinger  pressed  deep  into  the  dimple.  On  the 
upper  bunk  was  a  faded  blue  blanket;  the  lower 
one  was  red. 

Which  way  should  she  turn,  or  how  conduct 
herself?  Dreading  to  go  and  afraid  to  stay,  she 
was  confronted  with  a  problem  the  terms  of  which 
seemed  only  able  to  repeat  themselves.  With  the 
terrors  of  the  night  before  her,  she  dared  not  ven- 
ture away  from  this  man ;  her  very  nature  courted 
his  presence.  His  strength  and  fearlessness  she 
found  herself  clinging  to  as  if  he  belonged  to  her 
—  and  yet  he  was  a  menace  !  Of  course  there 
might  be  nothing  to  fear  if —  But  If  was  the 
dove  that  found  no  rest  for  the  sole  of  its  foot. 

The  problem  presented  difficulty  on  every  hand, 
as  if  things  were  on  his  side.  The  darkness  and 
the  shack  worked  together  to  prevent  escape; 
they  seemed  to  have  her  completely  surrounded. 

What  sort  of  man  was  he  ? 

47 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Repeatedly  she  had  taken  note  of  his  features, 
but  only  to  feel  more  deeply  how  little  can  be 
told  in  that  way.  Her  inability  to  decide  what 
impression  he  should  have  made  on  her  was  tan- 
talizing—  the  aching  question  still  remained. 
The  face  is  but  a  likeness;  you  should  know  the 
original.  And  yet  his  countenance,  so  strongly 
painted  on  her  mind,  seemed  always  on  the  point 
of  answering  her  profoundest  query.  It  was  as  if 
she  knew  him.  She  now  contemplated  her  mental 
image  more  deeply,  feeling  that  she  could  get  be- 
hind that  countenance  and  have  absolute  know- 
ledge. But  it  was  a  delusion.  The  soul  is  invis- 
ible. 

In  utter  homelessness  she  gazed  down  at  that 
little  space  of  ground  allotted  to  him  and  her. 
And  the  supper  which  united  them.  In  nature  there 
seemed  to  be  no  barrier  between  man  and  woman  ; 
their  paths  led  toward  each  other.  The  flat  ground 
seemed  paved  with  gradual  ingratiating  approach ; 
and  no  defense  but  outcry — too  terrible  and  too 
late.  Surely  too  late,  for  he  was  in  the  position 
of  her  protector,  and  she  would  have  to  assume 
that  he  was  a  gentleman  ;  and  how  is  a  girl  by 
that  prairie  camp-fire  going  to  say  just  how  much 

48 


The  Wrong  Woman 

room  her  person  shall  occupy  ?  Then  how  shall 
she  set  safe  bounds  ?  With  the  darkness  closing 
in  around  her  she  felt  trapped. 

Herwits  hard-pressed  by  this  paradoxical  plight, 
she  looked  with  new  longing  at  the  shack.  She 
felt  that  if  she  were  on  the  other  side  of  that  thresh- 
old, and  it  were  hers  by  right,  she  could  stand 
behind  it  with  some  assurance  of  power  against 
him,  some  dependence  in  forces  not  her  own. 
For  a  door-sill  is  definite,  and  on  it  rises  a  formal 
spectre ;  but  the  way  to  a  woman's  heart  is  not  so. 
Out  here  there  were  no  set  bounds ;  nothing  to 
give  pause  at  a  distance  showing  the  first  and  fatal 
step :  no  line  in  nature  which  becomes  evident 
before  it  has  been  passed.  Without  it  the  moral 
dead-line  was  too  close.  Oh  !  if  that  shack  were 
only  hers  —  the  rights  of  its  lockless  door. 

But  it  was  not  hers.  Thus  Janet's  imagination 
battered  at  the  doors  of  Home,  scarcely  knowing 
what  she  thought,  but  taking  mental  action,  nev- 
ertheless, in  the  face  of  circumstance  and  the 
quick  speech  of  things.  It  seemed  to  her — after- 
wards—  that  never  till  that  moment  had  she  seen 
the  full  nature  of  Home.  That  she  could  see 
any  of  its  features,  even  for  a  moment,  in  a  shack 

49 


The  Wrong  Woman 

so  frail  that  a  boot  could  break  it,  did  not  seem 
reasonable,  even  to  her ;  but  the  strength  of  a 
house  is  not  all  in  locks  and  bars.  She  had  caught 
the  depth  of  the  man's  first  charmed  look  at  her. 
Even  a  shack  can  excuse  one  from  the  scene, 
extinguish  the  light  of  beauty,  and  then  say  with 
the  voice  of  Society  —  keep  out.  Thus  things  do 
not  so  easily  and  gradually  come  to  an  issue.  But 
before  her  was  only  the  prospect  of  her  open 
presence,  without  screen  or  barrier  or  warning 
sign.  And  she,  on  her  part,  had  not  failed  to  note 
that,  besides  his  straightness  and  look  of  strength, 
there  was  something  of  virile  charm.  What  a 
terrible  thing  to  be  a  woman  !  So,  having  turned 
instinctively  to  the  shack,  and  recoiled  from  it, 
and  then,  with  nothing  else  in  sight,  returned 
to  it  with  the  imagination  of  despair,  there  was 
nothing  left  but  to  turn  about  and  stand  with  equal 
bafflement  before  the  closed  secrets  of  his  soul. 

As  if  by  a  deeper  instinct,  rewarding  her  efforts, 
she  saw  in  him  certain  abilities  for  evil  —  deep, 
deliberate,  and  daring.  He  had  quite  deliber- 
ately left  her;  then  he  had,  as  deliberately,  and 
without  saying  a  word,  gone  down  into  that  place. 
The  little  gully  was  as  steep,  almost,  as  a  grave, 

5° 


The  Wrong  Woman 

deep,  long,  and  narrow.  Her  eyes  turned  toward 
its  gloomy  shape.  What  could  he  be  doing  down 
there  ?  What  thinking  ?  She  could  hear  her  watch 
tick.  A  meaningless  baa  broke  out  in  the  corral 
and  went  round  in  changingtones  amongthe  sheep. 
While  she  is  so  standing,  let  us  take  a  look  at 
affairs  in  the  gully. 

Mr.  Brown,  upon  arriving  at  the  bottom,  pro- 
ceeded to  cast  a  burden  from  his  breast  —  first,  a 
stone  which  he  had  been  saving  for  an  opossum, 
a  rawhide  thong,  a  newspaper  which  had  done 
duty  over  and  over,  and  which  he  kept  in  hope 
that  it  might  yield  up  some  further  bit  of  news, 
and  finally,  the  rabbit,  all  of  which  he  dropped 
on  the  ground  beside  his  hat;  and  then,  getting 
down  on  his  knees,  he  washed  his  face.  Having 
spluttered  vigorously  into  double-handfuls  of 
water  from  the  little  stream  and  put  the  towel 
back  on  its  bush,  he  turned  his  attention  to  his 
twelve-dollar  boots  —  for  in  the  country  of  boots 
and  saddles  the  leatherwork  is  the  soul  of  appear- 
ances. He  removed  the  mud  with  his  knife  and 
brushed  off  the  dust  with  the  rabbit.  Finding  that 
this  latter  operation  promised  finer  results,  he 
damped  the  boots  with  the  tips  of  his  fingers,  and 

51 


The  Wrong  Woman 

taking  hold  of  the  long  ears  and  hind  legs  he 
worked  the  rabbit  back  and  forth  so  industriously 
that  a  fair  polish  came  forth.  With  a  careless  twirl 
he  threw  the  rabbit  away.  It  was  probably  as  well 
for  Janet  that  she  had  no  knowledge  of  what  he 
was  doing  down  there ;  she  would  have  been  ter- 
rified by  these  too  evident  indications  of  his  in- 
tentions. Having  combed  his  hair  and  brushed 
his  clothes  with  the  palms  of  his  hands,  he  felt 
generally  renovated  and  pulled  together;  he  took 
his  hat  in  hand  and  straightened  up  in  readiness 
to  make  his  appearance.  Then  he  sat  down. 

Before  him  was  the  spring  with  night  already 
in  its  depths.  The  little  stream  murmured  of  its 
flowing  in  the  overhanging  grass,  and  caught  the 
color  of  the  sunset  as  it  ran  out  into  the  open. 
A  little  farther  on  it  emptied  its  reflections  into 
a  pool  of  gold.  Steve  Brown,  having  in  his  mind's 
eye  a  vision  lovelier  than  this,  and  much  more 
interesting,  rested  his  gaze  on  a  dark  spot  which 
was  the  spring.  At  first,  her  presence  at  his  fire- 
hole  had  seemed  unreal ;  and  yet  perfectly  natural. 
It  was  very  much  as  if  she  had  just  stepped  down 
out  of  the  sky  and  said,  "Your  wish  has  come 
true."  At  least,  he  had  been  wishing  that  he  had 


The  Wrong  Woman 

something  fit  to  eat,  having  become  dissatisfied 
with  himself  as  a  cook.  His  period  of  due  con- 
sideration did  not  take  long ;  he  again  picked  up 
his  hat,  and  after  a  momentary  pause  in  this  ves- 
try or  anteroom  of  the  scene  he  made  his  en- 
trance. 

Janet,  having  done  the  last  possible  thing  to 
the  supper,  stood  her  ground  bravely  as  he  is- 
sued from  the  trench  and  marched  upon  her  camp; 
for  so  it  seemed  to  her,  so  conscious  she  was  of 
swinging  thighs  and  formidable  front  as  he  ad- 
vanced. He  hung  his  sombrero  on  a  nail  at  the 
corner  of  the  shack,  apologized  for  his  delay,  and 
stood  with  his  arms  folded,  awaiting  her  orders. 

"Sit  right  down,  Mr.  Brown,"  she  said,  in- 
dicating his  place  and  smiling  as  best  she  could. 
She  seated  herself  on  the  grass  opposite. 

"It  is  very  fine  weather  we  are  having,  Mr. 
Brown,"  she  remarked. 

"Yes  ;  it  was  a  fine  day.  Nice  and  bright;  but 
a  little  chilly." 

"  It  looks  as  if  it  might  stay  this  way,"  she 
added. 

"Yes  —  I  think  it  will.  Hope  it  will  anyway. 
But  you  can't  tell." 

S3 


The  Wrong  Woman 

The  last  remark  had  the  effect  of  bringing  their 
beginning  to  an  end  —  as  if  this  pliable  subject 
had  broken  off  in  too  strong  hands. 

While  she  poured  the  coffee,  he  served  the 
meat,  which  she  had  put  at  his  place ;  and  when 
he  saw  her  take  up  his  well-filled  cup  he  lifted 
her  plate  at  the  same  moment  and  passed  it  to 
her,  giving  and  receiving  together.  In  the  midst 
of  this  exchange,  Janet  (probably  owing  to  the 
ceremonious  way  in  which  he  did  it)  suddenly 
saw  into  the  little  formality  as  if  a  strange  new 
light  had  been  shed  upon  it ;  and  instantly  she 
felt  that  if  she  had  it  to  do  again  she  would  not 
set  the  table  in  this  husband-and-wife  way.  She 
was  smitten  with  self-consciousness;  and  think- 
ing it  over  it  seemed  strange  that  she,  who  was 
so  anxious  to  avoid  all  suggestion  of  intimacy, 
could  have  arranged  such  a  token  between  them 
and  not  have  been  aware  of  it.  In  that  all-silent 
place  the  act  was  like  words  —  as  if  mere  Things 
had  spoken  out  loud. 

"  That  is  a  pretty  bouquet  you  have,"  he  re- 
marked. 

The  reference  was  to  some  spring  flowers  which 
she  had  plucked  upon  arriving  and  used  to  fill 

54 


The  Wrong  Woman 

up  her  cup  of  joy,  the  said  cup  being  one  of  Mr. 
Brown's. 

"  Yes ;  I  thought  they  were  very  sweet.  In 
looks,  I  mean.  Especially  that  blue  kind."  Then 
suddenly,  as  the  thought  struck  her,  "  But  you 
see  so  many  of  them  !  " 

For  a  moment  he  looked  disconcerted,  like  a 
man  accused  of  something.  Inquiringly  he  looked 
at  the  flowers,  first  at  the  ones  which  belonged 
to  her,  then  at  the  thousands  just  like  them  all 
around. 

"  But  so  did  you  see  a  great  many  of  them." 
This  was  his  defense. 

"Oh,  yes —  Well  —  but  what  I  meant"  — 
the  fact  being  that  she  did  not  know  what  she 
meant  any  more  than  he  knew  what  he  meant  — 
"  was  —  Of  course  you  would  n't  pick  them 
for  a  bouquet,  though,  would  you  ?  " 

Instantly  she  felt  that  matters  had  been  made 
worse.  It  was  like  offering  final  proof  that  he 
had  not  admired  her  flowers,  really;  and  what 
was  his  defense  ? 

"  Oh,  no  —  I  suppose  I  would  n't.  That  is, 
not  for  myself." 

It  was  the  first  step  of  his  approach  ! 

55 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  Some  people  do  not  care  for  flowers  so  much 
as  others  do,"  she  answered  hurriedly.  f£I  have 
even  heard  of  persons  to  whom  the  perfume  was 
offensive  ;  especially  in  damp,  warm  weather. 
Odors  are  always  strongest  in  damp  weather, 
you  know." 

It  was  a  relief  to  feel  that  she  had  been  able  to 
lead  away  from  it. 

This  put  them  on  the  weather  again  ;  then  en- 
sued a  conversation  perfectly  inconsequential,  and 
yet  remarkable,  to  Janet  at  least,  for  the  amount 
of  guidance  it  needed.  She  felt,  as  if  her  fate 
depended  on  it,  that  there  must  be  nothing  of 
intimacy,  not  even  suggestion.  So  much  might 
come  from  the  drift  of  the  conversation.  She 
kept  it  as  inconsequential  as  she  could  —  a  sort 
of  chat  hardly  worth  setting  down  except  great 
art  had  been  shown  in  it.  Had  Janet  been  a  more 
experienced  woman,  and  one  with  the  firm  sure 
touch  of  the  conversational  pilot,  there  might  be 
some  interest  in  charting  out  her  secret  course, 
showing  all  the  quick  invisible  moves  that  were 
made,  and  how  she  steered  through  swift  hidden 
dangers  and  grazed  imminent  perils  unscathed, 
chatting  inconsequentially  all  the  while.  But 

56 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Janet  was  not  that.  She  was  little  more  than  a 
girl. 

She  did  the  best  she  could.  Meanwhile  the 
flowers  flaunted  their  colors  in  the  firelight,  seem- 
ing now  a  danger  signal  to  remind  her  of  her 
bungling  start.  The  flowers !  She  wished  she 
had  not  plucked  them  or  put  them  there.  Those 
preferred  posies,  standing  there  apart  from  the 
crowd  just  like  them,  looked  perfectly  foolish. 
She  did  not  understand  what  she  had  done  it  for. 
The  moment  she  had  made  that  remark  she  saw 
the  only  reason  why  he  admired  them:  it  was 
simply  because  they  were  hers.  And  she  had 
almost  pushed  the  matter  to  this  admission,  so 
thoughtless  she  was. 

While  they  talked,  she  took  fuller  observation 
of  him,  hoping  to  find  an  answer  to  her  great  ques- 
tion. Heworeawhite  shirt — this  had  flashed  upon 
her  first  of  all.  Further  scrutiny  told  her  that  he 
had  better  clothes  than  his  calling  would  seem  to 
allow,  and  in  better  condition.  His  suit  was  gray, 
and  though  somewhat  worn  and  unfurbished,  was 
evidently  of  fine  quality.  There  was  little  about 
his  attire  which  would  have  attracted  attention  in 
a  Northern  city  except,  possibly,  the  wide-brimmed 

57 


The  Wrong  Woman 

hat  and  the  boots  with  high  heels.  He  was  about 
thirty  years  of  age.  In  the  shack  shone  a  polished 
spur  —  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  else  of  cow- 
boy accoutrement.  She  could  not  make  him 
out.  He  seemed  taciturn  at  times  and  eyed  her 
strangely. 

Conversation  can  take  such  quick  turns. 
Words,  even  mere  things,  can  pop  up  with  such 
unlooked-for  allusions.  They  had  drifted  into 
some  remarks  upon  sheep-herding,  a  trying  oc- 
cupation. Mr.  Brown  attested  its  monotonous 
and  wearing  nature. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  it  must  be  so.  No  doubt 
you  are  always  glad  enough,  Mr.  Brown,  when 
the  time  comes  to  get  back  home  again." 

"  Yes  —  I  prefer  town  to  this.  But  I  can't 
exactly  say  that  it  is  like  going  home  nowadays. 
I  have  a  house  just  outside  of  town  on  the  coun- 
ty-seat road.  But  a  house  is  n't  home." 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed.  But  a  house  is  a  very  good 
thing  to  have  —  even  in  this  mild  climate."  She 
paused  a  moment.  "But  Texans,"  she  added, 
"  keep  the  windows  open  so  much,  night  and 
day,  that  one  might  just  as  well  sleep  out  of 
doors.  There  is  no  difference  really." 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Considered  in  all  its  bearings,  this  answer 
seemed  an  improvement;  it  encouraged  her  for 
the  moment.  But  it  seemed  impossible  for  them 
to  sit  out  there  and  talk  in  a  man-to-man  rela- 
tion; they  were  Society.  The  very  phrases  of 
society, —  even  the  flowers,  the  supper,  the  yawn- 
ing shack, —  everything,  it  seemed  to  her,  was 
against  it.  It  is  in  the  nature  of  things  ;  and  the 
Devil  is  on  the  man's  side.  They  were  Man  and 
Woman,  sitting  out  there  in  that  little  circle  of 
fire.  It  seemed  to  her  at  times  as  if  some  terrible 
light  were  being  thrown  upon  them  with  a  burn- 
ing focus. 

One  precaution  she  tried  to  keep  constantly 
before  her.  She  must  not  tell  him  her  affairs  — 
nothing  of  her  situation  in  the  world.  It  did  not 
seem  advisable  even  to  tell  him  the  nature  of  her 
errand  to  the  county-seat ;  too  much  might  be 
reasoned  from  it,  of  her  helplessness.  Her  great 
danger  lay  in  being  questioned :  this  must  be 
avoided. 

But  strangely  —  and  its  strangeness  grew  upon 
her  —  he  did  not  ask  such  questions.  He  did  not 
seem  to  have  the  least  interest  in  her  family,  her 
history,  or  the  object  of  her  journey.  He  asked 

59 


The  Wrong  Woman 

where  she  was  going,  a  conventional  question, 
perfunctorily  put.  His  remarks  all  seemed  some- 
what conventional.  Even  these  she  had  some- 
times to  evade  and  direct  into  other  channels; 
and  naturally  a  conversation,  conducted  solely 
with  the  idea  of  concealing  her  affairs,  did  not 
prosper.  He  began  to  say  less.  Finally  he  did 
not  talk  at  all.  He  simply  listened.  His  quiet 
way  of  waiting  for  her  to  continue  bore  in  upon 
her  as  if  it  were  some  new  quality  of  silence. 

To  meet  the  situation  she  returned  to  the  sub- 
ject of  her  adventure;  she  recounted  that  day's 
travels  with  endless  inconsequential  comment 
and  explanation.  If  she  paused,  he  made  some 
obvious  observation  and  waited.  Janet,  rather 
than  face  awkward  pauses,  silences  which  she 
could  hardly  support,  would  take  up  her  travels 
again.  She  talked  on  because  there  seemed  no 
way  to  stop.  His  way  of  waiting  for  her  to  con- 
tinue seemed  quite  in  keeping  with  that  deliber- 
ateness  which  she  had  already  noted.  What  to 
make  of  it  she  did  not  know.  It  might  be  that 
he  was  simply  satisfied  with  the  sound  of  her 
voice.  Or  possibly  he  had  not  the  least  care  as 
to  her  past  or  future.  Simply  disinterest !  This 

60 


The  Wrong  Woman 

latter  feeling  —  despite  the  state  of  affairs  was  so 
desirable  —  touched  her  in  some  deep  part  of 
her  being. 

She  told  herself  he  was  full  of  studious  design  ; 
but  whenever  he  looked  straight  at  her  and  re- 
peated her  words  in  his  quiet,  well-modulated 
tones,  she  found  her  better  judgment  softly  set 
aside,  and  all  put  in  obeyance.  At  such  times  a 
pleasant  feeling  passed  over  her ;  all  her  specu- 
lations and  apprehensions  were  sunk  in  the  at- 
mosphere of  his  presence.  It  was  a  soothing  ef- 
fect, a  personal  influence  which  extended  about 
him  and  pervaded  her  part  of  the  air.  As  she 
talked  on  and  on,  and  he  gave  her  attention, 
she  felt  it  more  and  more,  as  if  she  were  sitting, 
not  merely  in  his  presence  but  within  the  circle 
of  his  being.  It  was  as  if,  with  her  eyes  shut,  she 
could  have  entered  his  company  and  felt  its  at- 
mosphere like  entering  a  room. 

She  had  not  been  able  to  see  any  way  of  get- 
ting the  immediate  future  into  her  own  hands. 
Whenever  she  thought  of  bringing  the  story  to 
an  end,  her  mind  confronted  her  with  the  ques- 
tion, What  next  ?  Something  certainly  would  be 
next.  With  all  her  talking,  she  confined  herself 

61 


The  Wrong  Woman 

to  the  details  of  that  one  day's  experience.  It 
seemed  capable  of  indefinite  expansion ;  there 
would  never  be  any  end  unless  she  made  it. 
Having  supported  herself  in  conversational  flight 
so  long,  she  began  to  feel  that  anything  was 
better  than  suspense.  She  must  do  something. 
With  this  in  mind  she  ceased  and  looked  out 
into  the  night.  The  stars,  a  vast  audience,  had 
all  taken  their  places.  She  leaned  forward  and 
began  removing  the  dishes  from  her  napkins. 

"  It  is  time  for  me  to  be  going,"  she  said. 

He  sat  up  straight — as  suddenly  erect  as  if 
he  had  been  caught  sleeping  in  the  saddle. 

"  Going !  Going  where  ? " 

"I'm  going  —  on  my  way." 

"Why,  town  is  seventeen  miles  from  here!" 

"Oh,  I  can  walk  if — if  I  only  knew  the 
way." 

"  And  hear  the  coyotes  ?  And  no  light ! " 
Getting  his  small  heels  directly  under  him,  he 
rose  to  six  feet  and  looked  directly  down  on  her. 
It  was  as  if  he  had  ascended  to  the  top  of  his 
stature  to  get  a  full  view  of  such  a  proposition. 
"  Pshaw ! "  he  said.  "  Stay  right  here.  I  '11  fix  you 
up  all  right." 

62 


THE  STARS,  A  VAST  AUDIENCE,  HAD  ALL  TAKEN  THEIR  PLACES 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Without  pausing  for  further  parley,  or  even 
looking  to  her  for  assent,  he  turned  and  went 
into  the  shack.  From  the  inside  of  this  sleeping- 
place  there  came  sounds  of  energetic  house-clean- 
ing: pieces  of  property  came  tumbling  out  of  the 
door  —  an  old  saddle-blanket,  a  yellow  slicker, 
a  pair  of  boots,  a  tin  bucket.  Finally  a  branding- 
iron  bounded  back  from  the  heap  and  fell  rattling 
on  the  door-sill ;  then  there  was  a  sound  of  wip- 
ing and  dusting  out.  Janet  sat  silent,  her  hands 
in  her  lap.  In  a  little  while  he  came  crawling 
backwards  out  of  the  door  and  brushed  the  ac- 
cumulated dirt  off  the  door-sill  with  a  light  blue 
shirt.  He  went  in  again,  and  after  a  moment 
appeared  with  the  red  blanket,  which  he  shook 
so  that  it  made  loud  reports  on  the  air  and  then 
carried  to  the  fire  for  inspection,  and  to  find  the 
long  and  short  of  it. 

"  I  guess  there  is  n't  any  head  or  foot  to  this, 
is  there?"  He  smiled  dryly  as  if  this  comment 
pleased  him ;  and  without  expecting  an  answer 
he  went  into  the  shack  with  it  and  busied  him- 
self again. 

"  There,  now !  "  he  remarked  as  he  came  out. 
"  You  can  fix  up  the  little  things  to  suit  your- 

63 


The  Wrong  Woman 

self.  And  if  there 's  anything  else,  just  let  me 
know  and  I  '11  do  it  for  you." 

"I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  she  said, 
rising. 

"  Oh,  that 's  all  right —  no  trouble  at  all.  And 
now,  if  you  will  just  excuse  me,  I  '11  go  and 
finish  up  around  the  place.  If  you  want  to  go  to 
bed  before  I  get  through,  you  will  find  a  candle 
in  the  top  bunk.  I  have  n't  got  an  extra  lan- 
tern." 

So  saying  he  took  his  leave.  He  put  three  of 
the  coyote  lanterns  on  their  poles  at  the  corners 
of  the  pen,  unwrapped  the  red  cloth  from  the 
fourth  and  used  it  to  light  his  way  over  to  the 
shed.  He  came  back,  wrapped  the  red  around  it 
again,  and  hoisted  it  to  its  place  at  the  top  of  the 
pole.  A  watchful  ram  baaed  awesomely  as  it  rose. 

Janet's  shoe  had  been  hurting  her  unmerci- 
fully. She  had  not  been  able  to  compose  herself 
in  any  way  without  in  some  degree  sitting  on 
her  foot ;  and  it  had  kept  up  a  throbbing  pain. 
As  she  stood  up,  it  seemed  to  reach  new  heights 
of  aching  and  burning.  She  decided  that  she  had 
better  take  possession  of  the  shack  at  once;  so 
she  got  the  candle  and  lit  it  at  the  fire.  The  first 


The  Wrong  Woman 

thing  she  did  upon  entering  was  to  remove  her 
shoes.  The  relief  was  a  luxury.  The  door  had 
no  means  of  locking;  the  wooden  latch  lifted 
from  the  outside.  Having  latched  it,  she  sat 
down  on  the  edge  of  the  bunk. 

Her  shack!  But  after  a  little  this  inward  ex- 
clamation began  to  take  the  form  of  a  question. 
Suddenly  she  rose  and  looked  at  the  top  bunk. 
The  blue  blanket  was  still  there.  She  was  very 
tired.  After  sitting  a  while  in  thought,  she  put 
the  corner  of  the  red  blanket  over  her  feet  and 
lay  down,  letting  the  candle  burn.  She  was  sleepy 
as  well  as  tired;  but  she  kept  her  eyes  upon  the 
door.  It  was  really  his  place,  not  hers.  And  that 
made  it  all  so  different  —  after  all. 

Of  all  our  protectors,  there  is  none  whose  ru- 
morous  presence  is  more  potent  than  the  Spirit 
of  the  Threshold.  His  speech  is  a  whisper,  and 
before  his  airy  finger  even  the  desperado  quails. 
Thus  doors  are  stronger  than  they  seem,  and  a 
house,  if  there  is  no  other  need  of  it,  is  an  excel- 
lent formality.  The  accusing  Spirit  stands  aside 
only  for  the  owner. 

Janet  kept  her  eyes  half  open,  watching  that 
ancient  mark  between  Mine  and  Thine. 


CHAPTER   IV 

JANET,  opening  her  eyes  upon  daylight,  sat  up 
drowsily  and  looked  about.  How  long  she  had 
been  sleeping  she  had  not  the  least  idea.  Her  win- 
dowless  chamber,  all  shot  through  with  sunlight, 
presented  a  surprising  array  of  cracks,  and  the 
slanting  beams  told  her  that  the  sun  was  well  up. 
Her  watch  had  stopped. 

In  the  absence  of  toilet  conveniences  she  ar- 
ranged her  hair  as  best  she  could;  and  having 
adjusted  her  skirt-band  and  smoothed  out  the 
wrinkles,  she  put  her  hand  to  the  latch.  Her 
attention  was  caught  by  certain  sunlit  inscriptions 
on  the  pine  siding  —  verses  signed  by  the  pencil 
of  Pete  Harding,  Paducah,  Kentucky.  Mr. 
Harding  showed  that  he  had  a  large  repertoire  of 
ribald  rhyme.  And  he  had  chosen  this  bright 
spot  whereon  to  immortalize  his  name.  She 
opened  the  door  and  went  out. 

Mr.  Brown  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  The 
flock,  all  eyes,  turned  in  a  body  and  stared  at 
her.  Presently  she  went  to  look  for  him.  He 

66 


The  Wrong  Woman 

was  not  in  the  storm-shed,  nor  anywhere  down 
the  slope,  nor  in  the  gully.  She  walked  slowly 
round  the  shack  and  scanned  the  prairie  in  all  di- 
rections. The  face  of  nature  was  quite  innocent 
of  his  presence.  The  dog,  too,  was  gone. 

As  she  carrfe  back  to  her  starting  place,  the 
sheep  again  regarded  her  in  pale-eyed  expectation. 
A  ewe  emitted  her  one  doleful  note ;  another 
gave  hers,  sadly.  The  fire  had  been  burning 
quite  a  while;  it  had  made  a  good  bed  of  coals 
on  which  the  kettle  was  steaming  briskly.  She 
put  on  the  coffee  and  prepared  breakfast ;  and  as 
he  still  continued  to  be  absent,  she  sat  down  and 
ate  alone.  Then  she  put  up  a  lunch  and  stowed 
it  in  the  pocket  of  her  slicker.  Its  weight  had 
diminished  considerably  from  what  it  was  the 
day  before,  and  as  it  did  not  now  have  to  be  done 
up  in  the  form  of  a  bundle  it  could  be  carried  in 
a  more  convenient  way.  She  folded  the  slicker 
lengthwise  and  threw  it  across  her  shoulder. 

He  had  pointed  out  to  her  the  direction  in 
which  the  road  lay  at  its  nearest  point.  She 
walked  up  and  down  restlessly.  After  much  in- 
decision and  aimless  casting  about,  she  turned 
suddenly  toward  her  own  quarter  of  the  horizon 

6? 


The  Wrong  Woman 

and  set  forth  on  her  journey.  But  having  pro- 
ceeded a  fair  distance  she  slackened  her  pace  and 
came  to  a  stop  ;  and  again  she  strolled  up  and 
down,  looking  occasionally  in  the  direction  of  the 
knoll.  Finally,  she  returned  to  it  and  resumed 
her  meditations,  less  impatient. 

After  a  long  time,  or  so  it  seemed  to  her,  she 
looked  up  and  saw  him  coming.  He  carried  a 
rope,  the  long  noose  of  which  he  was  making 
smaller  to  fit  the  coil  on  his  arm.  As  he  reached 
the  shack  he  threw  down  the  coil  and  lifted  his 
hat. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Janet  "  — he  used  the 
Southern  form  of  address  — "  are  you  all  ready 
to  leave  us  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  thought  I  ought  to  get  as  early  a 
start  as  possible.  I  made  the  coffee  right  away. 
I  did  not  know  but  you  might  be  back  in  a  little 
while." 

"  Oh,  I  had  breakfast  long  ago.  I  went  out  to 
see  if  I  could  get  your  horse  for  you.  But  I  did  n't 
catch  sight  of  him.  I  hunted  for  him  longer  than 
I  realized.  It  is  quite  a  distance  for  you  to  walk, 
and  I  thought  we  might  fix  up  some  way  for  you 
to  ride.'^ 

68 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  That  was  very  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Brown.  I 
shall  be  quite  able  to  walk.  It  was  only  necessary 
for  me  to  lie  shown  the  direction." 

"The  road  is  over  that  way,"  he  said,  indicat- 
ing its  position  with  his  arm.  "  Keep  in  that 
direction  a  while  and  you  will  strike  a  wagon- 
trail.  Then  follow  that  and  it  will  bring  you  right 
out  on  the  road.  After  you  get  to  the  road,  you 
will  find  a  house  about  a  mile  to  the  right.  That 
is,  if  you  intend  to  go  that  way." 

"  I  am  from  Merrill,  Mr.  Brown.  I  am  on  my 
way  to  the  county-seat.  For  the  past  week  I  have 
been  teaching  school  a  few  miles  from  Merrill. 
It  is  the  little  white  schoolhouse  near  Crystal 
Spring." 

"A  teacher  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"I  can  hardly  claim  to  be  a  teacher,"  she 
answered.  "  The  girl  who  has  that  school  was 
called  home  by  the  death  of  her  brother.  I  have 
only  been  substituting.  I  am  on  my  way  to  Belle- 
view  to  take  a  teacher's  examination." 

As  Janet  offered  this  conscientious  information, 
Steve  Brown  looked  in  vain  for  any  allusion  to 
her  secretiveness  of  the  night  before.  In  her 
bearing  there  was  not  the  least  vestige  of  arts  and 

69 


The  Wrong  Woman 

airs,  nor  any  little  intimation  of  mutual  under- 
standing ;  she  simply  looked  up  with  wide-open 
eyes  and  told  it  to  him.  This  honesty,  quite  as  if 
she  owed  it,  gave  Steve  a  new  experience  in  life ; 
and  he  gazed  into  eyes  that  charmed  him  by  the 
clarity  of  their  look. 

"You  are  going  to  the  court-house  to  get  a 
certificate !  "  he  remarked. 

"  I  do  not  belong  here  in  Texas,"  she  said, 
continuing  her  story.  "  I  am  from  Ohio.  I  am 
stopping  with  the  Dwights,  down  at  Merrill.  But 
for  the  past  week  I  have  been  stopping  at  a  farmer's 
in  order  to  be  nearer  the  school." 

"Will  you  be  going  back  to  Ohio,  possibly  ?" 

"  It  might  be  that  I  shall  go  back.  But  it  all 
depends.  I  may  get  a  school  if  I  pass." 

She  stepped  forward  to  take  leave  of  him.  But 
just  at  that  moment  he  thrust  both  hands  deep 
into  his  pockets  and  bent  his  gaze  intently  upon 
the  ground,  his  brows  knit  together.  She  waited. 

"  Miss  Janet,"  he  said,  looking  up  suddenly, 
"  I  would  be  interested  in  knowing  whether  you 
pass." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  I  suppose  I  might  easily 
let  you  know." 

70 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  My  address  is  Thornton,  Box  20.  I  get 
my  mail  every  day  —  excepting  the  last  few  days, 
of  course ;  —  but  I  will  get  it  again  promptly  as 
soon  as  I  am  out  of  this  fix  I  am  in.  I  don't 
suppose  —  " 

"  Why,  are  you  in  some  sort  of  trouble  ? "  she 
asked,  interrupting  him. 

"Not  very  serious.  I  need  a  herder.  I  really 
ought  to  have  two  or  three  for  a  while  now.  I 
don't  suppose,  Miss  Janet,  there  is  any  doubt 
that  you  will  pass?  " 

"I  think,"  she  said,  a  playful  light  now  touch- 
ing her  features,  "it  is  quite  possible  for  me  not 
to  pass.  I  suppose  I  could  have  passed  easily 
enough  four  years  ago.  But  after  I  got  out  of  the 
Academy,  I  went  to  live  with  my  aunt ;  and  women, 
you  know,  don't  keep  up  their  interest  in  algebra 
and  things.  This  winter  when  Aunt  Mary  died, 
in  Toledo,  I  came  down  here." 

She  stepped  forward  again  and  extended  her 
hand. 

He  had  been  seeing  more  and  more  of  beauty 
as  he  gazed  into  her  eyes.  The  Truth  was  in  them 
deeper  than  words.  They  were  large  gray  eyes, 
gentle  and  quiet  and  soft  as  dawn  ;  and  they  had 


The  Wrong  Woman 

that  fulfilling  influence  which  spread  peace  upon 
the  waters  of  his  soul. 

"  Good-bye,  Mr.  Brown.  I  am  very  much 
obliged  to  you." 

"Well  —  good-bye,  Miss  Janet.  Be  sure  and 
let  me  know." 

She  turned  at  once  and  proceeded  on  her  way. 

With  her  attention  straight  ahead,  but  without 
any  landmark  to  go  by,  she  went  resolutely  for- 
ward, and  when  finally  she  turned  to  look  back 
she  saw  him  standing  just  as  she  had  left  him.  He 
did  not  seem  to  have  moved.  Again  she  put  for- 
ward, widening  the  distance  in  imagination;  and 
the  next  time  she  turned  to  view  her  work,  the 
shack  was  sinking  behind  a  billow  of  land.  She 
stood  now  and  gazed  back  at  the  flat,  flowered 
expanse  ;  then  she  turned  her  back  upon  it  for 
the  last  time.  One  does  not  look  long  upon  the 
gay  curtain  after  it  has  closed  upon  the  scene. 

"  I  would  be  interested  in  knowing  whether 
you  pass."  The  morning  had  shed  new  light 
upon  her  situation;  and  this  shed  a  light  upon 
morning.  And  now  that  she  could  view  her  ad- 
venture in  the  light  of  its  outcome,  she  went  back 
to  the  moment  of  their  meeting,  and  did  so, 

72 


The  Wrong  Woman 

recalling  what  next  he  said  or  did.  She  lived  it 
all  over  again ;  this  time  more  understandingly. 
Meantime  the  prairie  accommodated  her  with  its 
silence.  It  was  the  same  sameness  as  on  the  day 
before ;  but  not  to  her. 

With  her  eyes  fixed  upon  infinity  she  went 
buoyantly  forward;  for  this  time  she  was  not 
lost.  The  sun,  already  high  when  she  arose,  was 
blazing  somewhere  in  the  regions  above,  and  the 
strong  light,  flaring  in  her  face  and  shining  on  the 
broad  reaches  ahead,  was  very  trying  to  her  eyes. 
After  peering  against  it  ineffectually  for  a  while 
she  took  ofFthe  three-cornered  hat  and  proceeded 
to  undo  her  work  of  the  day  before,  removing 
the  pins  and  letting  down  the  rim. 

The  wearing  of  a  man's  hat  was  one  of  those 
things  which  she  herself  would  "never  have 
thought  of."  But  just  at  a  time  when  she  had 
been  having  experience  with  the  tribulations  of 
a  big  leghorn  on  horseback,  she  saw  a  woman 
with  a  man's  hat  turned  up  at  the  side ;  and  the 
next  day  she  had  procured  one  like  it,  which  she 
turned  up  in  the  same  manner  with  a  breastpin. 
And  the  leghorn,  unsuited  to  trials  of  wind  and 
weather,  was  left  at  home. 

73 


The  Wrong  Woman 

The  woman  —  Raymond  her  name  was  — 
was  passing  the  school  on  horseback,  and  she 
stopped  in  to  get  a  drink.  Janet  noticed  the  hat 
more  particularly  because  of  its  contrast  with  the 
woman's  hair,  which  was  light  like  her  own  ;  al- 
though, as  she  observed  to  herself,  of  quite  a 
different  shade.  As  it  was  almost  noon  she  stopped 
for  lunch,  and  Janet  found  her  very  good  com- 
pany if  not  quite  to  her  fancy.  She  smelled  hor- 
ribly of  perfume. 

With  the  brim  shading  her  eyes,  Janet  could 
now  look  forward  with  a  degree  of  comfort. 
Presently  she  was  brought  to  a  stop  by  a  small 
stream.  It  was  a  mere  brook  —  probably  the 
water  from  a  single  spring  such  as  the  one  which 
issued  from  the  knoll ;  but  at  this  point  it  spread 
out  and  took  the  form  of  a  wide  patch  of  marsh 
grass.  Farther  down  it  gathered  its  laggard 
waters  together  and  became  a  brook  again.  Janet, 
keeping  clear  of  the  bog,  went  down  here  in- 
tending to  jump  across.  Finding  it  too  wide 
for  her,  she  followed  it  along,  its  varying  width 
promising  to  let  her  pass.  She  skirted  round 
other  patches  of  marsh  grass  and  black  boggy 
places  only  to  find  it  too  wide  again.  At  last 

74 


The  Wrong  Woman 

she  removed  her  shoes  and  stockings  and 
waded  it. 

For  some  time  she  had  been  ignoring  the 
troubles  of  her  left  foot,  the  instep  of  which  felt 
as  if  some  one  had  been  heaping  coals  of  fire 
on  it.  It  was  such  a  relief  to  step  out  of  the 
hot  grip  of  leather  into  the  well-fitting  water 
that  she  loitered  a  while  in  the  current;  then  it 
occured  to  her  that  here  was  the  place  to  stop 
for  dinner.  With  her  slicker  spread  out  on  the 
bank  she  sat  down  and  had  lunch,  holding  her 
feet  in  the  water  while  she  ate.  Being  done  she 
sat  a  while  longer,  and  when  the  sun  had  dried 
her  feet  she  put  on  the  shoes  again,  lacing  them 
carefully  with  particular  regard  to  the  ailing  instep. 
Then  she  folded  the  slicker. 

As  she  straightened  up  and  turned  to  go,  she 
beheld  a  Texas  steer  of  the  longhorn  variety  only 
a  short  distance  away.  He  had  been  grazing 
toward  her,  and  as  she  arose  he  threw  up  his  head. 
At  sight  of  him  —  he  seemed  to  be  all  horns  — 
she  turned  and  made  straightway  for  the  other 
side  of  the  stream.  She  splashed  through  it  as 
fast  as  she  could  go ;  and  being  back  where  she 
came  from,  she  turned  upstream  and  ran.  She 

75 


The  Wrong  Woman 

kept  on  till  she  came  to  a  particularly  wide  piece 
of  marsh  grass.  Here,  with  a  good  bog  between 
herself  and  the  appalling  pair  of  horns,  she  came 
to  a  stop.  Her  shoes  were  now  heavy  with  mud 
and  water. 

Janet  can  hardly  be  called  a  coward  for  acting 
as  she  did.  A  Texas  longhorn  of  the  old  school 
was  enough  to  move  anybody, — better  calculated 
to  do  so  than  either  the  elk  or  deer. 

Consider  the  stag  raising  his  antlers  in  the 
forest  aisle.  Held  to  the  spot  by  this  display  of 
headgear  you  comtemplate  it  in  all  its  branches, 
—  main-beam,  brow-tine,  bes-tine,  royal  and  sur- 
royal, — they  are  all  beautifully  named.  To  run  is 
only  second  thought.  No  particular  horn  seems 
aimed  at  you.  Between  so  many  there  may  be  room 
for  escape. 

But  think  of  the  Texas  steer !  To  right  and 
left  of  him  is  one  long  tapering  tine.  Each  of 
them,  naked  as  a  tusk,  has  a  peculiar  twist  which 
suggests  that  it  is  perfectly  scientific.  Immediately 
you  are  impressed  with  the  idea  of  running. 

He  is  a  pitchfork  on  four  legs.  And  so  is  his 
wife.  With  other  beasts  of  horn  and  antler,  it  is 
only  the  male  who  is  thus  favored ;  he  has  them 


The  Wrong  Woman 

to  fight  out  his  differences  over  the  ladies;  and 
also,  no  doubt,  to  make  a  grand  impression.  But 
Mrs.  Longhorn  has  them  as  well  as  he  and  is 
quite  able  to  take  care  of  herself.  And  so,  meet- 
ing either  of  them  in  their  native  state,  you  are 
inclined  to  regard  the  horizon  as  one  vast  bull- 
ring. Janet  was  not  at  all  cowardly  when  she  arose 
and  went. 

Having  reached  a  safer  place,  she  turned  her 
attention  to  the  stream  again ;  and  as  she  was  now 
confronted  by  the  bog,  she  had  to  find  a  crossing 
somewhere  else.  Naturally  she  did  not  turn  her 
steps  downstream  again. 

The  steer  had  grown  small  in  the  distance  by 
the  time  she  came  to  a  place  where  the  black  bot- 
tom looked  safe.  She  stepped  in  and  got  to  the 
other  side  without  difficulty. 

For  quite  a  while  now,  Janet's  journey  might 
best  be  described  by  saying  that  she  walked.  The 
scenery  was  grass.  Evidently  she  had  missed  the 
road.  Still,  though  the  fence  was  not  yet  in  sight, 
she  did  not  give  up  hope;  a  wire  fence  does  not 
become  visible  at  a  very  great  distance.  Her  wet 
shoes  were  very  annoying.  The  imprisoned  water 
inwardly  sucked  and  squirted  at  every  step,  and 

77 


The  Wrong  Woman 

made  queer  sounds.  Unable  to  endure  it  longer 
she  sat  down  and  took  them  off,  and  while  they 
were  draining,  upside  down,  she  removed  the 
stockings  and  wrung  them  out.  Although  she  did 
not  get  them  thoroughly  dry,  the  walking  was 
somewhat  natural  again  at  least. 

Her  shadow  became  long  and  stretched  out 
indefinitely  beside  her.  The  sun  came  down  from 
above  and  appeared  in  its  own  form ;  then  quickly 
it  sank.  She  kept  steadily  on.  She  knew  it  could 
not  be  far  now  to  the  fence ;  and  once  she  was 
on  the  road  she  would  feel  safer.  But  while  she 
walked  the  gray  of  evening  came  on  ;  then  some- 
where in  the  distance  a  coyote  barked.  Her  cour- 
age began  to  depart,  as  the  dusk  deepened;  it 
seemed  to  her  as  if  all  the  loneliness  in  the  world 
had  come  home  to  roost.  It  was  no  use  to  watch 
for  the  fence  now;  it  would  apprise  her  of  its 
presence  when  she  came  to  it.  Regardless  of  the 
possibility  of  running  into  its  iron  barbs,  she 
walked  faster ;  at  times  she  ran.  A  star  came  out 
faintly.  It  was  night. 

The  swish-swish  of  her  feet  in  the  grass,  the 
rustle  of  her  skirts,  became  prominent  sounds. 
She  missed  the  company  of  her  watch ;  she  wound 

78 


The  Wrong  Woman 

it  up  and  got  it  to  ticking ;  anything  to  ward  off 
the  solitude.  The  thought  of  camping  out  she 
did  not  like  to  entertain ;  but  thoughts  are  un- 
avoidable. Once  she  stood  quite  still  to  make  a 
little  trial  of  it,  but  her  pause  was  not  long ;  she 
soon  got  her  feet  to  going  again.  She  missed  the 
sound  of  trees,  the  breezes  playing  upon  them. 
If  there  had  only  been  something,  —  she  knew 
not  what,  —  it  would  have  seemed  more  world- 
like.  There  was  an  absence  of  everything  famil- 
iar. 

To  stop  and  rest  was  now  out  of  the  question. 
It  were  better  to  walk  and  keep  thinking  of  the 
road.  That  would  be  human  ground.  So  she 
thought  of  the  road  and  tried  to  keep  her  mind 
flowing  in  its  channel.  How  far  might  it  be  now? 
How  long? 

In  the  midst  of  this  suspense  she  sighted  a  light 
ahead  —  a  camp-fire.  It  was  somewhat  to  the  left 
of  her  present  course.  Steadily  it  drew  nearer, 
straight  ahead  —  her  footsteps  had  bent  toward 
it.  When  she  was  beginning  to  distinguish  the 
play  of  the  flames,  it  sank  from  sight;  but  pre- 
sently it  appeared  again,  more  plainly.  Now  a 
lantern  was  moving  about  behind  a  pair  of  legs. 

79 


The  Wrong  Woman 

She  could  see  just  the  legs,  scissors-like,  cutting  off 
the  light  at  each  step.  The  lantern  stopped  and 
burned  steadily;  then  another  appeared.  Then 
another. 

The  open  side  of  a  shed  became  visible,  a  block 
of  deeper  darkness  which  made  the  night  seem 
lighter.  Janet,  scarce  knowing  her  intentions,  kept 
going  towards  it.  The  lantern  which  first  stopped 
now  turned  red  and  began  ascending.  It  was  a 
coyote  lantern.  It  was  going  up  to  the  top  of 
its  pole.  A  sheep  baaed  with  the  suddenness  of 
a  bagpipe. 

Janet  halted.  She  had  now  gone  dangerously 
near.  The  fire  invited  her  to  come ;  but  many 
things  warned  her  away.  What  to  do  she  did  not 
know. 

To  her  dismay,  the  problem  very  quickly  took 
itself  out  of  her  hands.  The  dog,  alive  to  his 
duty,  came  out  at  her  with  alarming  threats.  A 
short  distance  from  her  he  circled  around  her  to 
make  his  attack  from  the  rear,  as  Scotch  dogs 
wisely  do.  Janet  screamed  and  ran  forward,  though 
not  so  willingly  as  a  sheep.  As  the  dog  desisted, 
in  obedience  to  a  sharp  command  from  his  mas- 
ter, she  halted  again.  One  of  the  lanterns  was 

80 


The  Wrong  Woman 

suddenly  lifted,  and  being  held  up  to  give  a  wider 
light  it  shone  full  on  the  face  of  the  man.  It  was 
the  countenance  of  Mr.  Stephen  Brown. 
"  Goodness  gracious  !  "  said  Janet. 


CHAPTER   V 

RUMOR  worketh  in  a  thousand  ways  her  won- 
ders to  perform. 

On  the  day  of  Janet's  runaway,  Tuck  Reedy, 
of  Thornton,  rode  in  at  the  southeast  gate  and 
struck  out  in  the  direction  of  certain  water-holes, 
his  mission  being  to  look  over  some  B.U.J. 
cattle  which  had  recently  been  branded,  and 
see  whether  their  burns  had  "  peeled  "  properly. 

In  a  good  many  cases  he  found  that  the  blow- 
flies had  worked  havoc,  so  that,  working  single- 
handed,  he  had  a  great  deal  to  do ;  and  by  the 
time  he  had  thrown  a  number  of  lusty  calves  and 
treated  their  sides  with  his  bottle  of  maggot  medi- 
cine, he  had  pretty  well  worn-out  the  day.  Being 
done,  he  turned  his  attention  to  a  cow  which  had 
become  deeply  involved  in  a  boggy  water-hole. 
He  threw  the  rope  over  her  horns  and  pulled 
with  his  pony  this  way  and  that,  but  without  suc- 
cess. Finally,  when  the  sun  was  going  down  on 
failure,  he  resolved  to  kill  or  cure.  He  gave  the 
rope  another  turn  round  the  horn  of  his  saddle 

82 


The  Wrong  Woman 

and  started  up  at  imminent  risk  to  her  neck.  Her 
legs  were  rooted  in  the  tough  muck  as  if  they 
were  the  fangs  of  a  colossal  tooth,  but  Tuck  pulled 
it ;  and  having  now  rounded  out  an  honest  day's 
work,  his  fancy  turned  toward  the  fire  of  the 
sheep-herding  Pete  Harding.  Pete  was  a  con- 
genial spirit,  even  if  he  was  not  much  of  a  horse- 
man, and  he  had  a  pack  of  cards  with  which 
he  passed  much  time,  trying  to  beat  himself  at 
solitaire. 

Tuck  did  not  know  that  Pete  Harding  was 
not  at  present  in  charge  of  the  sheep.  He  event- 
ually made  the  discovery  by  the  light  of  Steve's 
fire ;  and  he  made  it  at  remarkably  long  range.  Like 
others  whose  vision  has  been  trained  on  far-off 
cattle,  he  was  very  long-sighted ;  his  eye  could 
reach  out  and  read  the  half-obliterated  brand  on 
a  distant  cow  —  a  faculty  which  saves  a  horse 
many  steps,  especially  on  a  ranch  where  the  cattle 
do  not  all  belong  to  one  owner.  Tuck,  being  one 
of  this  kind,  was  as  yet  afar  off  when  he  saw  that 
there  were  two  persons  at  the  fire.  Closer  ap- 
proach making  the  fact  vividly  plain,  he  pulled 
rein  and  came  to  a  stop.  Sure  enough,  it  was  a 
woman!  She  was  sitting  there  eating  supper! 

83 


The  Wrong  Woman 

The  extraordinary  spectacle  quite  balked  his  com- 
prehension. Having  taken  in  all  visible  details  and 
circumstances,  he  very  considerately  turned  his 
horse  and  made  himself  "  scarce." 

On  the  following  day,  while  everybody  was 
waiting  for  the  mail  to  be  distributed,  Tuck  was 
loitering  up  and  down  past  the  various  groups 
on  Thornton's  principal  thoroughfare.  Coming 
finally  to  where  the  subject  of  horse  was  being 
discussed,  he  joined  himself  to  this  multitude  of 
counselors ;  and  finding  Hank  Bullen  among 
those  present,  he  related  his  experience  of  the 
night  before.  While  the  two  speculated  and  con- 
jectured, others  became  included  in  the  conversa- 
tion, a  process  which  requires  a  story  to  be  several 
times  repeated. 

"  Did  you  say  this  was  yesterday  ?  "  asked  Ed 
Curtis,  who  had  just  caught  the  drift  of  it. 

"Last  night,"  said  Tuck. 

"  You  say  she  wore  a  white  collar  and  cuffs  and 
a  black  felt  hat?" 

"  No;  I  did  n't  see  what  sort  of  a  hat  she  had. 
She  did  n't  have  any  hat  on.  I  said  she  had  on 
a  dark  dress  with  white  around  the  wrists  and  a 
wide  white  collar  turned  down." 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  I  passed  that  girl  on  the  road  yesterday.  She 
was  going  out  that  way.  She  rode  a  sorrel  with 
one  stocking  behind  and  a  star." 

"  Why ! "  exclaimed  Reedy,  "  that  must  'a'  been 
the  horse  I  seen  out  on  the  grass.  He  was  a  short- 
coupled  sorrel  with  a  stocking  on  his  near  hind 
leg,  and  he  had  a  star.  I  thought  to  myself  that 
he  looked  corn-fed." 

"  That 's  hers.  She  wore  a  man's  hat.  It  was 
turned  up  on  one  side  with  a  big  breastpin.  I 
noticed  it  wasn't  any  eight-dollar  hat;  she  had 
to  fix  it  that  way  to  stiffen  the  brim  in  front.  It 
was  a  black  hat." 

"  She  must  be  intending  to  make  a  stay  to  turn 
him  loose  like  that,"  remarked  Bill  Whallen. 

Further  discussion  yielding  nothing  but  these 
same  facts,  the  talk  came  round  to  horse-lore 
again. 

A  while  later,  Whallen,  having  called  for  his 
mail  and  received  none,  stepped  out  of  the  post- 
office  and  ran  his  eye  along  the  row  of  horses  at  the 
hitching-rack.  At  the  end  of  the  row  was  an  ex- 
tremely starved-looking  animal ;  and  he  was  being 
stoutly  defended  by  his  owner,  Al  Todd,  against 
the  aspersions  of  the  drug  clerk. 

8$ 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  All  that  horse  needs,"  said  Al  Todd,  "  is  a 
little  something  to  eat.  What  do  you  expect  of  a 
horse  that  is  just  out  of  the  poor-house  ?  There 's 
a  real  horse.  Look  at  his  framework.  Look  at 
them  legs.  Look  at  how  he 's  ribbed  up." 

Whallen examined  the  horse's  bones  and  teeth; 
then  he  stepped  back  and  took  a  general  all-over 
view. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it?"  asked  the  drug 
clerk. 

"  Is  he  for  sale  ? "  inquired  Whallen,  before 
answering. 

"  No,  he  ain't  for  sale,"  answered  Todd.  "  This 
fellow  thinks  he  ain't  a  nice  horse." 

"  Well,"  said  Whallen, "  a  man  can  easy  enough 
put  meat  on  a  horse.  But  he  can't  put  the  bones 
in  him." 

"  Nor  the  git-ap,"  added  Todd. 

"Does  he  know  anything?"  asked  Whallen. 

"  That 's  just  what  he  does,"  answered  Todd. 
"  I  threw  a  steer  with  him  yesterday  and  he  held 
it  while  I  made  a  tie.  A  steer  can't  get  any  slack 
rope  on  him.  He  surprised  me." 

"Who  had  him?"  inquired  Whallen. 

"  Don't  know.  I  bought  him  up  at  the  county- 
86 


The  Wrong  Woman 

seat.  He  was  one  of  them  uncalled-for  kind  — 
like  that  suit  of  clothes  they  sold  me  up  in 
Chicago.  And  Steve  Brown  says  to  me, c  I  should 
say  they  were  uncalled  for,  entirely  uncalled  for.' 
They  can't  fool  me  on  horses,  though." 

"  Say  ! "  said  Whallen ; "  Ed  Curtis  got  in  from 
Belleview  yesterday.  When  he  was  coming  along 
the  road  he  met  a  girl  on  a  sorrel.  And  last  night 
Tuck  Reedy  —  " 

And  Whallen  went  on  to  tell  about  the  strange 
case  of  Steve  Brown  and  the  woman. 

"Was  he  sure  that  was  Steve  Brown?"  the 
drug  clerk  questioned. 

"  Reedy  could  n't  say  it  was  Brown  for  certain ; 
he  did  n't  get  a  right  good  view  of  his  face.  He 
said  it  looked  like  him.  But  he  could  see  the 
woman  plain." 

"  Why,  sure  that  was  Brown,"  said  the  owner 
of  the  horse.  "  I  saw  Pete  Harding  when  I  was 
up  at  the  county-seat ;  and  he  came  along  with 
me  to  see  them  auction  off  the  bunch  of  strays. 
This  horse  was  one  of  them  ;  that's  why  he's  so 
thin.  I  asked  Harding  who  had  his  job  now,  and 
he  told  me  nobody  had  it  because  Brown  was 
running  the  sheep  himself." 

8? 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  How  did  the  woman  come  to  be  out  there? " 

"  There  was  n't  any  woman  out  there  when 
Pete  left.  I  know  Pete.  Brown  came  out  there 
to  see  how  things  were  doing,  and  while  he  was 
there  Pete  remarked  that  sheep-life  was  getting 
pretty  monotonous.  So  Brown  told  him  to  go 
away  a  while  and  give  his  mind  a  change.  Pete 
did  n't  say  anything  about  a  woman." 

"  I  guess  Mr.  Reedy  did  n't  see  very  plain," 
remarked  the  drug  clerk. 

"See  plain!"  said  Todd  in  disgust.  "You 
don't  listen  plain." 

"  Then  Harding  did  n't  quit  on  his  own  hook  ? " 
queried  Whallen. 

"He  didn't  quit  at  all.  He's  going  back  in  a 
few  days  if  he  gets  through  being  drunk.  He 
told  me  he  had  to  get  through  before  the  lambs 
was  born.  He  didn  't  know  about  any  woman." 

"  Humph !  Brown  went  off  by  himself  and 
did  herding  like  that  before.  He  acts  queer 
lately.  He  don't  say  much." 

"That's  what  Pete  said.  Me  and  him  trailed 
round  Belleview  all  morning,  and  I  got  him  to  go 
along  and  bid  in  this  horse  for  me.  I  saw  he  was  a 
good  horse,  but  I  did  n't  know  he  was  rope-wise. 

88 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Look  at  his  backbone.  Look  at  how  he 's  coupled 
up." 

The  drug  clerk,  having  affected  horse  wisdom 
and  miscarried,  now  stepped  forward  and  began 
feeling  the  distance  between  the  horse's  rump 
and  floating  ribs,  a  move  evidently  intended  to 
show  his  knowledge  of  this  last  technical  term. 

"  What 's  all  that  for  !  "  inquired  Todd,  with 
a  touch  of  surprise.  "  Ain't  them  bones  plain 
enough  to  see?  I  guess  you  think  he  is  one  of 
them  nice  fat  horses  that  you  have  got  to  feel." 

"That 's  right,  Al,"  remarked  Whallen.  "  Buy 
a  horse  like  that  and  you  see  what  you  're  getting. 
What's  the  use  feeling  when  the  package  is 
open?" 

•  The  drug  clerk,  thus  suddenly  put  out  of  coun- 
tenance by  the  very  bones  he  had  been  flouting, 
stepped  back  and  held  his  peace ;  and  presently, 
under  cover  of  Whallen's  going,  he  took  his  own 
departure. 

Al,  now  that  he  had  vanquished  his  opponent 
and  made  him  seek  the  intrenchment  of  his 
counter,  cast  his  eye  about  and  searched  the  length 
of  Main  Street,  one  side  and  then  the  other.  He 
expected  to  get  sight  of  some  one  of  the  crew 

89 


The  Wrong  Woman 

that  had  brought  the  cattle  into  the  loading-pens; 
but  they  had  totally  disappeared.  After  looking 
into  a  few  likely  places,  and  finding  that  he  had 
guessed  wrong,  he  paused  on  a  street  corner  to 
give  the  matter  deeper  thought. 

"  Come  on,  Al,"  said  Toot  Wilson,  hastening 
past. 

"Whereat?" 

"  Up  to  the  saddle-maker's.  They  're  in  there. 
He  is  making  a  fine  one.  Did  you  see  it?" 

"  No." 

"It 's  for  young  Chase.  It 's  great  work." 

In  John  Diefenbach's  workroom  was  a  numer- 
ous company  of  saddle  admirers,  sitting  and  loung- 
ing about  in  the  seductive  odor  of  new-mown 
leather.  The  saddler,  happily  busied  among 
his  patterns  and  punches  and  embossing-tools, 
turned  at  times  and  peered  over  the  rims  of  his 
spectacles  in  evident  satisfaction.  The  heavy 
stock  saddle,  its  quantities  of  leather  all  richly  be- 
flowered,  was  mounted  on  a  trestle  beside  him.  It 
was  so  near  completion  that  the  long  saddle-strings 
now  hung  down  in  pairs  all  round,  and  these  thongs, 
being  of  lighter-colored  leather,  and  sprouting 
out  of  the  hearts  of  embossed  primroses,  looked 

90 


The  Wrong  Woman 

quite  as  if  they  were  the  natural  new  growth  of 
that  spring  —  in  fact  the  whole  flourishing  affair 
might  have  been  expected  to  put  on  a  few  more 
layers  of  leather  out  of  its  own  powers  of  luxuri- 
ance. But  there  was  nothing  superfluous  about 
it. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it,  Al  ?"  asked  one  of 
the  company. 

Todd  looked  it  over,  the  broad  hair  girths  fore 
and  aft,  the  big  cinch  rings  and  strong  stirrup 
straps.  The  stirrups  were  missing.  His  eye 
sought  the  hooks  and  pegs  over  the  workbench. 

"Do  them  things  go  on  it  ?"  he  asked,  point- 
ing an  accusing  finger. 

Hanging  on  the  wall  was  a  pair  of  Mexican 
tapaderas  —  deep  hooded  stirrups  with  a  great 
superfluity  of  leather  extending  below  as  if  they 
were  wings  for  the  feet. 

"  Oh  !  no,  no,  no,"  said  the  saddler,  turning 
hastily  and  holding  up  his  hand  as  if  to  quell 
this  mental  disturbance  before  it  had  gone  too 
far.  "These  go  on  it  —  these."  He  held  out  a 
pair  of  plain  wooden  hoops. 

Todd's  countenance  rearranged  itself  at  once. 

"  She's  a  jim-dandy,"  said  Todd. 


The  Wrong  Woman 

With  this  verdict  rendered,  he  seated  himself 
on  a  chair  which  had  a  nail-keg  for  legs  and  gave 
his  attention  to  the  principal  speaker  as  he  re- 
sumed his  account  of  a  roping-match.  The  story 
was  rather  long,  showing  how  it  was  that  the  best 
man  did  n't  win. 

In  the  ensuing  silence  Todd  found  his  oppor- 
tunity to  speak. 

"  I  just  heard  something,"  he  said.  "  Steve 
Brown  is  herding  sheep." 

"  That 's  nothing,"  said  the  story-teller.  "He 
done  that  a  couple  of  times  before." 

"And  they  say  there  is  a  woman  out  there  with 
him,"  added  Todd. 

"  A  woman  !   What  woman  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Tuck  Reedy  rode  past  and 
saw  them  sitting  by  the  fire.  Ed  Curtis  saw  her 
too." 

"  Whose  sheep 's  he  herdin'  ? "  asked  big  Tom 
Brodie. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  the  sheep.  He 's 
out  there  tending  them.  And  she 's  out  there  with 
him." 

"I  know  what  he's  doing  with  them,"  said 
Harry  Lee.  "He's  administrating  them." 

92 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"What  have  they  got?"  inquired  big  Tom. 

"  Who  's  got  what  ? " 

"  What  is  it  that 's  ailin'  them  ?  I  say,  what  have 
they  got?"  repeated  Tom  assertively,  being  a 
little  in  liquor. 

"  They  have  n't  got  anything.  I  said  he  is  ad- 
ministrating them.  When  a  man  dies,  the  court 
chooses  somebody  that 's  reliable  to  settle  up  what 
he  leaves.  And  this  other  fellow  sees  that  every- 
thing is  tended  to  and  done  on  the  square.  They 
were  John  Clarkson's  sheep,  and  they  belong  to 
his  little  boy.  He  is  administrating  them." 

"  Huh !  "  grunted  Tom,  whose  untutored  mind 
now  needed  a  rest. 

"  But  how  about  this  woman  ?  "  asked  Frank 
Sloan. 

"  She 's  turned  her  horse  out  to  grass ;  and 
she 's  out  there  with  him.  Just  him  and  her.  All 
alone." 

"  Pshaw !  "  said  Harry  Lee.  "  They  ain't  alone. 
How  could  Tuck  Reedy  tell  she  was  alone  just 
by  the  light  of  the  fire?  There  might  have  been 
somebody  in  the  shack.  Or  behind  it." 

"And  maybe  the  horse  had  just  pulled  up  his 
stake-rope,"  said  another. 

93 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"Or  maybe  the  horse  had  hobbles  on,"  added 
another. 

"  Did  nt  I  tell  you  Ed  Curtis  saw  the  same  wo- 
man ?  "  said  Todd,  now  growing  assertive.  "And 
she  was  going  out  there  alone.  And  if  there  was 
anybody  else  around  wouldn't  they  be  eating 
supper  with  them  ?  And  if  a  horse  was  dragging 
a  stake-rope  would  n't  Tuck  Reedy  know  it  ? " 

To  make  the  matter  unquestionable  he  now 
started  at  the  very  beginning  and  told  it  all,  going 
into  details  and  pointing  out  how  one  witness 
corroborated  another. 

"  You  say  she  wore  a  felt  hat  ?  And  was  light- 
haired?" 

(f  Yes.  It  was  black.  It  was  turned  up  at  the 
side." 

"  Hell !  I  know  who  that  is  !  "  exclaimed  Sloan. 
<(  Why,  that 's  a  woman  that  was  up  here  at  Pres- 
ton. Said  she  was  an  actress.  She  came  along  with 
a  fellow  and  started  a  saloon  over  on  the  other 
side  of  the  tracks  near  the  loading-pen.  After  a 
while  the  women  folks  got  to  talking  about  the 
place  and  making  objections;  so  then  the  rent 
was  raised.  I  heard  just  the  other  day  that  she 
left  town  on  a  horse  and  was  looking  around  the 

94 


The  Wrong  Woman 

country.  She  fastened  the  side  of  it  up  with  a  big 
pin." 

"  A  big  breastpin,"  said  Al  Todd. 

"  That 's  her." 

Here  was  a  sufficient  subject.  Recollection 
failed  to  bring  up  a  parallel.  It  was  something 
new  in  sheep-herding. 

"  Well,"  said  Sloan,  finally,  "a  man's  liable  to 
end  almost  anywhere  if  he  takes  it  into  his  head 
to  herd  sheep.  They  can  raise  all  of  them  they 
want,  but  I  '11  stick  to  cattle;  'specially  in  spring. 
One  thing  about  a  cow  or  a  mare  is  that  you 
don't  ever  have  to  teach  her  the  mamma  busi- 
ness." 

"  Some  sheep,"  remarked  Todd,  "  ain't  got 
natural  human  affections.  When  one  of  that  kind 
has  a  lamb  you  Ve  got  to  mix  in  and  get  her  to 
adopt  it.  And  half  the  time  it 's  twins.  And  maybe 
she 's  willin'  to  take  one  and  won't  have  the  other. 
I  would  n't  have  the  patience." 

"  Nor  me,  either,"  said  Harry  Lee.  "  I  have 
a  brother  that  tried  it  one  time.  And  after  he  got 
through  with  that  band  of  sheep,  it  would  have 
taken  Solomon  to  straighten  out  the  family 
troubles.  One  thousand  of  them.  Some  had 

95 


The  Wrong  Woman 

twins  and  some  did  n't  have  any,  and  the  bunch 
was  full  of  robber  lambs." 

"  What 's  robber  lambs  ?  "  asked  Diefenbach, 
who  had  now  turned  his  back  on  the  workbench. 

"  That 's  a  lamb  that  has  n't  got  any  mother  in 
particular.  Maybe  his  own  mother  died  or  dis- 
owned him.  And  the  other  sheep  all  know  their 
own  lambs  and  won't  have  anything  to  do  with 
him.  You  see,  a  sheep  is  mighty  particular ;  no 
admittance  unless  he  's  the  right  one,  according 
to  smell.  And  maybe  she  won't  take  one  any- 
way. Then  the  lamb  is  up  against  trouble ;  he 
keeps  going  round  trying  to  get  dinner  every- 
where. If  he  's  a  robber  lamb,  he  finds  out  that 
if  he  comes  up  and  takes  his  dinner  from  behind 
she  can't  smell  him  and  don't  know  the  differ- 
ence. What  a  sheep  don't  know  don't  hurt  her. 
That 's  where  a  lot  of  trouble  comes  in." 

"  What  hurt  does  that  do  ? "  inquired  the 
philosophic  Diefenbach.  "  Has  n't  a  lamb  got  to 
have  some  milk  ?  " 

"Sure.  But  that  sheep  has  got  a  lamb  of  her 
own  ;  and  pretty  likely  she  has  twins,  and  it 's  all 
she  can  do  to  keep  them.  So  this  lamb  that 's 
onto  the  game  comes  and  robs  them." 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  You  see,  it 's  like  this,"  put  in  Sloan.  "  Sup- 
pose you  have  a  thousand  sheep ;  and  over  here  is 
a  lot  of  lambs  playing  around.  You  see,  a  sheep 
and  a  lamb  don't  always  go  together  like  a  cow 
and  a  calf.  Sheep  are  awful  monotonous,  and  I 
guess  the  lambs  know  it.  So  they  go  off  in  a 
bunch  and  have  a  good  time.  And  when  one  of 
them  gets  hungry  he  lets  a  bleat  out  of  him  and 
starts  for  the  bunch  of  sheep.  They  are  all  tuned 
up  to  a  different  sound ;  so  are  the  sheep.  And 
the  lamb  and  the  sheep  know  each  other  by 
sound.  Well,  the  sheep  will  hear  that  and  she  '11 
let  out  her  sound  and  get  an  answer  back,  and  that 
way  he  '11  find  her  in  the  bunch.  Maybe  they 
meet  halfway ;  then  she  smells  him  and  it  is  all 
right.  Well,  we  have  a  thousand  sheep  all  graz- 
ing together ;  and  off  here  is  a  bunch  of  lambs 
with  a  lot  of  robbers  among  them,  all  playing 
and  skipping  around  and  having  a  hell  of  a  time. 
Well,  a  robber  lamb  gets  hungry  all  of  a  sudden, 
so  he  skips  off  and  takes  the  first  sheep  that 
comes  handy.  He  takes  what  ain't  his.  And 
maybe  it 's  twins.  After  a  while  little  Johnny  and 
Mary  come  home  and  then  they  're  up  against  it." 

"And  if  you  let  things  go  like  that,"  added 

97 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Lee,  "one  sheep  won't  have  any  lamb  or  any 
milk  and  another  will  be  feeding  two  twins  and 
a  robber.  You  can't  raise  sheep  that  way." 

"  But  what  is  a  man  going  to  do  about  that  ? 
How  can  he  help  it  ? "  pursued  Diefenbach. 

"  Why,"  said  Lee,  "  he  's  got  to  keep  track 
of  them  when  they  're  being  born  and  see  that 
every  sheep  takes  her  lamb  and  gets  to  liking  it. 
Whenever  there  's  one  that  don't  want  a  lamb 
he  's  got  to  tend  to  her." 

"Donnerwetter  /"  exclaimed  Diefenbach,  re- 
verting momentarily  to  his  native  tongue.  He 
picked  up  a  beading-punch  and  turned  to  his 
own  line  of  industry. 

From  sheep  they  got  back  to  horses  again, — 
conversation  usually  travels  in  a  circle,  —  and 
being  now  in  their  native  element  they  continued 
in  one  stay,  discussing  ways  and  means 

"  To  wind  and  turn  a  fiery  Pegasus, 

And  witch  the  world  with  noble  horsemanship. ' ' 

The  story  of  the  woman  had  reached  this 
state,  circumstantial  and  complete,  when,  by 
divers  methods,  it  got  out  to  the  more  aristo- 
cratic circles  of  Claxton  Road. 


CHAPTER   VI 

THERE  was  not  a  stone,  it  is  safe  to  say,  within 
half  a  day's  walk  of  Claxton  Road.  Prairie  country 
of  the  black-waxy  variety  is  noticeably  bereft  of 
this  usual  feature  of  life,  the  lazy  Southern  ocean 
which  formerly  brooded  over  these  parts  having 
deposited  black,  rich  muck  till  it  covered  every- 
thing post-hole  deep.  And  so  if  a  man  had 
wanted  a  stone  to  throw  he  would  have  had  to 
walk  several  miles  to  find  one,  by  which  time,  of 
course,  his  anger  would  have  cooled  off.  Orig- 
inally there  had  been  one  here  and  there,  but 
these  solitary  specimens,  being  such  a  novelty, 
and  standing  out  so  plainly  on  the  flat  scene,  had 
been  picked  up  by  farmer  or  cowboy  and  taken 
home.  Thus  each  of  the  several  stones  in  those 
parts  was  engaged  in  holding  open  the  barn  door 
or  the  ranch  gate,  or  was  established  in  the  back 
yard  to  crack  pecan  nuts  on,  much  to  the  im- 
provement of  flatirons.  If  a  man  had  stolen  one 
and  used  it  openly,  he  would  sooner  or  later  have 
been  found  out.  But  why  do  we  speak  of  stones? 

99 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Shortly  after  supper,  Mrs.  Arthur  Wright  — 
Kitty  they  still  called  her — came  out  of  the  front 
gate  whistling,  and  going  to  the  middle  of  the 
road,  there  being  no  sidewalk  that  far  out  from 
town,  she  turned  to  the  left  and  set  out  for  the 
Chautauqua  meeting  at  Captain  Chase's.  Claxton 
road,  coming  in  from  the  county-seat,  changed 
its  name  a  mile  or  so  out  of  Thornton  and  be- 
came Claxton  Road.  The  Wright  residence  may 
be  said  to  have  been  located  just  where  the  cap- 
ital R  began.  At  this  point  the  barb  wire  of  the 
prairie  thoroughfare  gave  way,  on  the  left-hand 
side,  to  the  white  fences  of  suburban  estates  with 
big  front  yards  and  windmills  and  stables  ;  and 
on  the  right  there  came,  at  the  same  time,  an  un- 
fenced  vacancy,  or  "  free  grass,"  which,  though 
it  had  a  private  owner  somewhere,  might  be 
called  a  common.  The  estates  along  Claxton 
Road  faced  this  big  common,  looking  across  it 
toward  the  cottages  which  marked  the  edge  of 
town  on  the  other  side,  and  there  was  nothing  to 
obstruct  the  view  except  a  time-blackened  frame 
house  which,  for  some  reason,  had  posted  itself 
right  in  the  middle  of  this  spacious  prospect. 
These  places  along  Claxton  Road  were  the 

100 


The  Wrong  Woman 

homes  of  cattle  and  sheep-men  who  owned  vast 
ranches  in  adjacent  counties.  They  had  thus 
herded  themselves  together,  largely,  if  not  en- 
tirely, on  account  of  Woman  and  her  institutions. 

As  the  Wright  place  was  the  farthest  out  in 
this  row  of  suburban  estates,  Mrs.  Wright  was 
frequently  the  first  to  start  to  a  Chautauqua  or 
other  social  affair;  indeed,  had  it  not  been  that 
she  made  a  practice  of  hurrying  up  the  others  as 
she  went  along,  she  would  usually  have  been  the 
first  to  arrive.  A  short  walk  brought  her  to  Har- 
mon's, and  here  bringing  to  a  hurried  conclusion 
the  Wedding  March  from  "  Lohengrin,"  —  an 
excellent  tune  to  march  by,  —  she  changed  her 
flutelike  notes  for  a  well-known  piercing  trill. 
At  the  second  shrill  summons  Mrs.  Harmon 
came  to  the  door. 

"Just  a  minute,  Kitty  —  I  'm  coming." 

"  Don't  forget  your  specimen,"  called  Mrs. 
Wright. 

Mrs.  Harmon,  after  a  somewhat  protracted 
minute,  came  out  with  nothing  on  her  arm  but 
a  book. 

"  I  've  just  been  too  busy  for  anything,"  she 
explained.  "You  know  I  had  the  dressmaker 

101 


The  Wrong  Woman 

two  days —  I  thought  I  'd  take  the  opportunity 
while  George  was  away  at  the  ranch.  And,  be- 
sides," she  added,  after  a  short  pause,  "  I  did  n't 
think  of  it." 

"  That's  right,  Statia.  Always  tell  the  truth, 
even  as  an  afterthought." 

"  My !  but  you  're  coming  out  bright  this 
evening,"  responded  Mrs.  Harmon. 

"  I  hope  we  can  depend  upon  the  others," 
mused  Kitty. 

Mrs.  Dix  and  Mrs.  Norton  came  out  of  their 
respective  homes  empty-handed  except  for  books. 
So  also  Mrs.  Plympton  and  her  mother. 

"  Well,  I  just  don't  care,"  said  Mrs.  Norton. 
"  How  in  the  world  could  I  get  a  stone  ?  I  have 
been  having  the  awfulest  time  with  our  windmill. 
The  thingumajig  that  is  supposed  to  turn  it  off  has 
got  broken  or  something  and  it  keeps  pumping 
water  all  over  where  I  don't  want  it  to.  If  I  had 
an  artificial  pond  like  the  Harmons  I  would  know 
what  to  do  with  so  much  water.  I  wonder  when 
Jonas  Hicks  will  get  back  ? " 

"I  wonder!"  echoed  Mrs.  Dix.  "I  was  de- 
pending upon  him.  Mr.  Dix  said  he  expected 
him  back  in  a  day  or  two.  If  it  had  n't  been  for 

102 


The  Wrong  Woman 

that  he  would  n't  have  taken  Fred  along ;  for 
you  know  I  can't  put  a  saddle  on  Major  myself. 
Jonas  will  probably  be  back  to-day  or  to-mor- 
row he  said." 

"I  am  su-u-u-ure,"  said  little  Grandma  Plymp- 
ton,  in  her  sweet  and  feeble  tremolo,  —  "I  am 
su-u-u-ure  that  if  we  had  all  asked  Mr.  Hicks 
to  get  us  a  stone  he  would  most  willingly  have 
done  so.  Mr.  Hicks  would  do  anything  for  a 
lady." 

Grandma  Plympton  —  what  there  was  left  of 
her  after  seventy-four  years  of  time's  attrition  — 
had  a  way  of  speaking  which  made  it  easy  enough 
to  believe  that  she  had,  in  her  day,  been  a  beauti- 
ful singer.  As  her  message  to  the  world  was 
usually  one  of  promise  and  reassurance,  she  had 
the  gift  of  dwelling  with  songlike  sweetness  on 
those  words  in  which  the  music  lay.  She  was  al- 
together lovable  and  quaint.  On  fine  days  she 
would  still  go  forth  alone,  bearing  her  mother- 
of-pearl  card-case,  and  she  would  leave  her  card 
here  or  there  as  naturally  as  a  flower  drops  a 
petal ;  for  despite  her  years  she  had  by  no  means 
turned  traitor  to  Society.  Nor  had  Society  so 
much  as  thought  of  leaving  her  out.  In  her, 

103 


The  Wrong  Woman 

indeed,  the  fine  flower  of  aristocracy  was  still  in 
bloom,  and  delicately  fragrant. 

The  party,  suiting  their  pace  to  hers,  went 
more  slowly  after  passing  Plymptons',  where- 
upon Grandma,  finding  herself  thus  accommo- 
dated, gave  over  what  efforts  she  had  been  mak- 
ing and  went  more  slowly  still;  and  so,  when 
they  came  to  the  Brown  place,  which  faced  the 
middle  of  the  common,  they  were  moving  at  a 
most  deliberate  rate.  As  they  arrived  opposite 
the  small  gate,  they  all,  as  if  by  simultaneous 
thought,  stopped  at  once. 

The  object  of  their  sudden  interest  was  a 
rockery  in  the  front  yard.  This  work,  a  pile  of 
smooth  boulders  about  three  feet  in  height,  and 
as  yet  only  partially  covered  with  young  vines, 
was  the  only  scenic  rival  to  the  artificial  pond  in 
the  Harmons'  front  yard.  Steve  Brown  built  it 
to  please  his  mother,  picking  up  a  boulder  here 
and  there  in  the  course  of  his  travels  and  getting 
it  home  by  balancing  it  on  the  horn  of  his  sad- 
dle. During  the  last  weeks  of  her  illness,  when 
her  wandering  mind  went  back  to  the  hills  of 
her  girlhood,  her  imagination  played  continually 
around  this  mimic  mountain  of  Steve's,  and  as  it 

104 


The  Wrong  Woman 

seemed  to  be  the  one  joy  of  her  prairie-spent  life, 
he  would  carry  her  out  on  the  porch  in  good 
weather  and  prop  her  up  so  that  she  could  sit 
and  look  at  it.  Jonas  Hicks,  becoming  inter- 
ested, took  a  hand  in  the  work ;  he  kept  on 
making  contributions  as  long  as  the  resources  of 
the  country  held  out.  Here  was  one  reason  that 
there  was  not  a  sole  stone  remaining  to  be  dis- 
covered. 

"  If  we  only  had  a  few  of  them!"  suggested 
Mrs.  Norton. 

"Yes — but  he  might  not  like  it,"  said  the 
younger  Mrs.  Plympton. 

"  But  we  would  just  borrow  them,  you  know," 
explained  Mrs.  Norton.  "  And  anyway,  how  are 
we  going  to  get  along  without  them  ?  Here  we 
have  arranged  for  the  Professor  to  come  and  tell 
us  about  them ;  and  we  all  promised  to  bring 
a  specimen.  It  will  seem  strange  for  not  one  of 
us  to  have  a  rock." 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  it  would  do  any  harm  for 
us  to  borrow  a  few  stones,"  said  Kitty  Wright. 
"I  don't  see  anything  so  awful  about  it." 

There  came  a  pause  of  indecision.  Mrs.  Har- 
mon—  she  was  the  dignified  Daniel  Webster  of 

105 


The  Wrong  Woman 

the  circle,  and  just  the  opposite  of  the  small  and 
sprightly  Mrs.  Wright — was  yet  to  be  heard 
from. 

"Really,"  she  said,  "  we  ought  not  to  agree  to 
do  things  and  then  not  do  them.  We  should 
have  done  it  or  else  found  somebody  like  Jonas 
Hicks  to  do  it  for  us.  What's  everybody's  busi- 
ness is  nobody's  business." 

"And what 's  nobody's  business  is  everybody's 
business,"  added  Mrs.  Wright. 

"  Good ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Norton.  "  Where 
did  you  hear  that,  Kitty? " 

"I  just  heard  myself  say  it.  I  did  it  with  my 
little  hatchet." 

"Sort  of  a  double-edged  axiom,"  observed 
Mrs.  Harmon. 

"  I  am  su-u-u-ure,"  chimed  Grandma  Plymp- 
ton,  "that  if  Mr.  Brown  were  here,  and  knew  the 
circumstances,  he  would  most  wi-i-i-llingly  offer 
to  assist  us.  Of  course,  we  should  never  take 
what  does  not  belong  to  us,  without  the  owner's 
permission,  but  I  am  qui-i-i-i-ite  sure  that  if  we 
were  to  take  them  and  put  them  back  just  where 
we  got  them,  Mr.  Brown  would  quite  approve 
of  it." 

1 06 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  Mother  has  a  very  high  opinion  of  Stephen 
Brown,"  said  Mrs.  Plympton. 

"  Mr.  Brown  is  quite  a  gentleman,  indeed," 
said  Grandma. 

This  advice,  coming  from  so  white  a  priestess, 
and  in  words  that  lent  so  musical  and  sweet  a 
sanction,  removed  the  last  mote  of  conjecture 
from  the  air.  Mrs.  Wright,  as  usual,  was  the 
first  to  take  action.  Every  set  of  women,  prob- 
ably, has  its  recognized  clown,  she  who  is  just 
too  cute  and  killing.  And  those  who  do  not  like 
her  say  she  is  tiresome  and  "  silly."  Mrs.  Wright, 
in  keeping  with  the  character,  went  through  the 
gate  with  exaggerated  show  of  dissolute  abandon. 

"  Come  on,  girls,"  she  said,  breaking  into  the 
rockery.  "  I  do  hope  I  '11  get  one  with  feldspar 
in  it,  or  something  nice  and  interesting." 

Mrs.  Norton,  having  been  the  one  to  make 
the  suggestion,  now  followed  her  own  advice ; 
Mrs.  Dix,  taking  example  from  Mrs.  Norton, 
came  next ;  thus  the  motion  was  carried.  And 
pretty  soon  the  caravan  moved  forward,  heavily 
laden  with  food  for  thought. 

The  next  two  houses  in  the  line  of  march 
were  those  of  Mrs.  Jephson,  and  Mrs.  Osgood 

107 


The  Wrong  Woman 

and  her  sister  Hannah  —  she  was  quite  usually 
spoken  of  as  Mrs.  Osgood's  sister ;  but  the  two 
latter  had  already  gone. 

"  What  do  you  think  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Jephson. 
"  I  just  got  word  that  Oliver  would  n't  be  home 
to-night,  and  he  is  probably  gone  for  several 
days.  And  Captain  Chase,  too.  The  Captain  had 
to  go  to  San  Antonio  on  business,  and  Oliver 
went  along." 

"  The  Captain,  too  !  Not  a  man  left  in  the 
neighborhood  !  "  said  Mrs.  Harmon. 

"  Except  Uncle  Israel,"  added  Mrs.  Wright. 

Uncle  Israel  was  the  Captain's  aged  darky. 

A  shortage  of  men  was  nothing  new  to  the 
ladies  of  this  community.  Rather,  being  a  cattle- 
raising  country,  it  was  a  thing  to  be  expected  at 
any  time  in  spring  or  fall ;  and  when  Claxton 
Road  did  enumerate  its  full  quota  of  husbands, 
fathers,  and  brothers,  many  of  them  were  liable 
to  be  absent  from  Chautauqua.  Always  with  good 
excuse,  however.  One  would  be  getting  ready  for 
a  trip  to  the  ranch  ;  another  would  have  to  stay 
at  home  to  instruct  his  foreman ;  another  would 
have  to  sit  up  with  a  costly  bull  that  was  going 
through  the  rigors  of  acclimation ;  and  on  more 

108 


The  Wrong  Woman 

than  one  occasion  it  was  the  very  man  who  was 
being  depended  upon  to  tell  them  all  about  civil 
war  or  civil  government  who  would  have  to  be 
excused  by  his  wife  for  some  such  reason,  upon 
which  there  would  be  a  chatter  of  regret  and  the 
meeting  would  fall  into  a  conference  upon  mat- 
ters in  general.  While  the  gentlemen  would 
"  expatiate  and  confer  "  with  one  another  as  to 
what  breeding  would  produce  the  most  wrinkles 
on  a  sheep's  back  (thus  giving  the  greatest  wool- 
bearing  surface),  the  ladies  would  devise  new 
wrinkles  to  make  use  of  it.  And  usually  the  ones 
who  produced  the  raw  material  would  be  entirely 
through  with  their  plans  while  yet  the  consumers 
were  settling  fine  points  with  regard  to  the  finished 
product.  In  this  matter  of  higher  culture,  the 
true  bent  of  masculine  nature  was  likely  to  be- 
tray itself  in  absence.  But  the  present  scarcity  of 
man  may  be  said  to  have  been  somewhat  above 
the  average. 

For  some  distance  the  ladies  went  forward  with- 
out saying  a  word.  A  spell  of  utter  silence  had 
fallen  upon  the  party.  Then  Mrs.  Wright  spoke. 

"  Statia." 

"Yes." 

109 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  Do  you  remember  what  we  studied  about 
gravity  ? " 

"Why,  certainly.  Every  certain  number  of 
feet  a  thing  falls  it  goes  twice  as  fast." 

"Well,  I  have  made  a  discovery  just  as  good 
as  Sir  Isaac  Newton's.  Every  foot  you  carry  a 
rock  it  gets  twice  as  heavy." 

Some  one  among  them  dropped  her  burden  ; 
instantly  they  all  let  go.  The  boulders  struck 
the  road  with  almost  as  simultaneous  a  thump  as 
when  the  drill-sergeant  calls  out "  Ground  arms." 

"  Oh  !  I  'm  nearly  dead,"  said  Mrs.  Norton. 

"So 'ml,"  gasped  Mrs.  Dix,  sinking  down 
on  the  roadside  grass. 

"  O-h-h-h  !  "  gasped  Mrs.  Plympton. 

The  next  minute  or  two  was  devoted  to 
breathing. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  say  you  were  nearly  dead  ? " 
demanded  Mrs.  Harmon,  when  she  had  some- 
what recovered. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  say  something  ?  "  replied 
Mrs.  Dix. 

"  Why  did  n't  we  all  say  something  ? "  inquired 
Mrs.  Norton.  "  I  did  n't  know  the  rest  of  you 
were  as  tired  as  me." 

1 10 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Mrs.  Wright,  despite  she  was  the  smallest 
of  the  number,  was  evidently  the  hardiest;  she 
had  calmly  turned  her  stone  over  and  sat  down 
upon  it. 

"  It 's  a  wonder  you  don't  all  blame  it  on  me/' 
she  said  philosophically. 

"  Well,  whatever  I  learn  about  this  stone  I  Ml 
never  forget,"  remarked  Mrs.  Dix.  "  Never  as 
long  as  I  live.  Let 's  take  them  back." 

"Yes;  but  it's  farther  to  go  back  than  it  is  to 
keep  on,"  said  Mrs.  Harmon.  "And  we  cer- 
tainly can't  leave  them  here.  We  are  responsible 
for  them." 

A  very  evident  state  of  affairs.  Being  begun 
it  had  to  be  done. 

"Come  on,  stone,  we're  going,"  said  Mrs. 
Wright,  taking  hers  up  again. 

The  others  followed.  Again  the  rock-laden 
ladies  went  manfully  onward. 

When  next  they  reached  the  limit  of  endur- 
ance, Chase's  big  red  gate  was  so  near  that  they 
hung  on  with  final  determination,  and  when  they 
were  almost  to  it  they  rushed  forward  to  get  in- 
side the  goal  before  the  rocks  fell.  They  all  suc- 
ceeded except  Mrs.  Plympton,  who  lost  hers 

in 


The  Wrong  Woman 

in  the  middle  of  the  road  and  then  finished  its 
journey  by  rolling  it. 

"  I  was  never  so  glad  in  my  life  before  that 
I  am  not  a  horse,"  she  said. 

Virginia  Chase  had  come  down  the  path  to 
shut  the  gate,  which  some  one  among  the  earlier 
arrivals  had  not  properly  fastened,  and  she  was 
the  bearer  of  bad  news.  The  Professor,  after  all, 
would  not  be  able  to  be  present.  He  had  one  of 
his  sick  headaches  again. 

"And  who  else  do  you  think  is  sick?"  added 
Virginia.  "Aberdeen  Boy.  I  wish  Jonas  Hicks 
was  back,  because  Uncle  Israel  does  not  know 
very  much,  really,  about  stock.  I  am  so  worried. 
He  held  his  head  out  so  funny,  I  thought  maybe 
it  was  something  the  matter  with  the  ring  in  his 
nose.  But  it  was  n't.  He  is  just  sick." 

"  I  am  su-u-u-ure,"  said  Grandma  Plympton, 
"that  if  Jonas  Hicks  were  back  he  could  give 
him  something  that  would  relieve  him." 

When  the  specimen-hunters  had  recovered 
from  their  labors  they  accompanied  Virginia  up 
the  driveway,  explaining,  as  they  went,  the  whole 
case  of  the  abducted  rockery.  In  the  Chase's  big 
sitting-room  the  earlier  contingent  was  drawn 

112 


The  Wrong  Woman 

together  in  conversation  as  close  as  chairs  would 
permit,  and  as  the  belated  ones  entered  they 
were  greeted  with  exclamations  in  which  there 
was  an  extra  touch  of  the  joy  of  life,  it  being  in 
the  very  nature  of  gossip  to  seek  new  openings 
and  exploit  itself  in  mystery  and  surprise. 

"Hurry  up,  Statia;  get  your  things  off  and 
come  here —  Wait,  Mrs.  Osgood ;  don't  tell 
any  more  till  Kitty  is  here —  Sh-h-h-h;  be  care- 
ful what  you  say  before  Grandma  Plympton." 

The  newcomers,  returning  from  the  bedroom 
divested  of  their  wraps,  began  at  once  to  relate 
their  own  experiences  in  geology,  but  they  had 
no  more  than  stated  the  bare  facts  when  they 
became  aware  'that  there  was  a  more  absorbing 
topic  in  the  air.  Somebody  had  told  Mrs.  Osgood's 
hired  man,  who  had  told  his  wife,  who  told  Mrs. 
Osgood  —  but  for  that  matter  there  was  no  great 
secret  about  it. 

"  Have  n't  you  heard  a  thing  about  it,  Mrs. 
Plympton  —  re-e-eally  ?  " 

This  was  asked  by  one  who  had  herself  heard 
of  it  only  a  few  minutes  before. 

"  Why,  no  ;  what  is  it  ? " 

"  You  tell  it,  Mrs.  Osgood.  You  can  tell  it  best." 

"3 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Then  followed  the  story.  In  the  course  of  its 
travels  it  had  not  suffered  any  loss  of  detail;  it 
had  rather  prospered.  Each  person  to  whom  it 
had  been  intrusted  had  sent  it  on  its  way  richer 
and  better;  it  became  longer  and  truer.  And  so 
Mrs.  Osgood  told  it,  ably  assisted  by  those  who 
had  just  heard  it  and  kept  seeing  new  phases  of 
it.  Finally  the  case  was  rested. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it,  Mrs.  Plympton  ? 
You  live  nearest  to  him." 

"  I  must  say  that  I  am  surprised.  But  then,  I 
don't  know  whether  a  person  ought  to  be  sur- 
prised at  anything  like  that. " 

"  And  to  think  of  it !  "  said  Mrs.  Dix.  "  Away 
out  there  where  nobody  is  likely  to  come  along 
once  in  two  weeks.  What  an  idea !  " 

"Well,"  remarked  Mrs.  Harmon,  who  had 
been  taking  time,  and  might  therefore  be  sup- 
posed to  have  given  the  matter  her  weightier  con- 
sideration, "it  is,  in  fact,  just  what  one  might 
expect.  He  has  always  been  so  steady  and  sober- 
minded.  It  is  n't  as  if  he  had  had  a  greater  vari- 
ety of  interests  and  more  social  inclination  and 
—  wilder,  you  know.  He  was  entirely  devoted 
to  his  mother ;  and  he  has  n't  the  resources  and 

114 


The  Wrong  Woman 

flexibility  to  make  so  complete  a  change  easily, 
and  naturally." 

"  He  has  been  acting  quite  strangely  since  his 
mother  died,"  interpolated  Mrs.  Dix.  "  He  cooks 
and  eats  and  sleeps  out  on  that  kitchen  porch, 
and  does  n't  seem  to  take  any  pleasure  in  being 
invited  out,  or  spending  an  evening  at  other 
people's  houses." 

"That's  it,"  said  Mrs.  Harmon.  "In  his 
position,  and  especially  his  ^position,  a  man  is 
just  ripe  for  the  first  adventuress  that  comes 
along.  In  considering  such  things  we  ought  to 
make  allowances." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  remarked  Mrs.  Norton. 
"  But  to  think  of  it  being  her.  The  low  calculat- 
ing thing  !" 

Grandma  Plympton  was  out  in  the  dining* 
room  with  Virginia  sipping  a  glass  of  wine,  and 
having  admired  an  embroidered  sideboard  scarf, 
a  recent  work  of  Virginia's,  she  was  now  engaged 
in  examining  other  things  as  they  came  forth 
from  a  lower  drawer,  which  creations  interested 
her  so  much  that  Virginia  went  still  deeper  into 
the  family  treasury  and  finally  brought  forth  a 
sampler  and  counterpane  which  her  own  grand- 

"5 


The  Wrong  Woman 

mother  had  wrought.  The  examination  of  these 
things,  together  with  reminiscence  of  her  own 
early  achievements,  kept  Grandma  Plympton  so 
long  that  by  the  time  she  reached  the  sitting- 
room  the  absorbing  topic  had  subsided  from  its 
first  exclamatory  stage  and  was  being  treated  in 
a  more  allusive  and  general  way.  Grandma  soon 
gathered  from  the  allusions  that  Stephen  Brown 
had  at  last  met  the  lady  of  his  choice. 

"  Indeed  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "Now  I  am  sure 
he  will  settle  down  and  make  an  excellent  hus- 
band. Not  that  there  was  anything  bad  about 
him,  not  at  all ;  but  he  was  rather  wild  when  he 
was  a  boy,  and  gave  his  mother  a  great  deal  of 
worriment — especially,  I  mean,  when  he  took 
his  cattle  up  into  the  Territory.  And  in  those 
days  she  could  hardly  keep  him  from  joining  the 
Rangers.  But  now  he  is  older  and  more  sensible 
and  has  had  responsibilities;  and  I  am  su-u-u-ure 
it  will  be  a  fine  match  for  any  young  lady." 

It  is  hardly  in  human  nature  to  shatter  such 
illusions.  Thereafter,  the  subject  of  the  evening 
was  more  guardedly  treated,  pending  her  depart- 
ure. Grandma  Plympton,  valiant  as  she  was  in 
the  social  cause,  could  seldom  stay  up  for  more 

116 


The  Wrong  Woman 

than  the  first  few  numbers  of  a  dance,  and  she 
could  never,  of  late,  remain  to  the  end  of  an 
evening  party.  Before  a  great  while  she  signified 
her  readiness  to  go,  and  after  her  usual  courtly 
leave-taking  she  went  away  on  the  arm  of  her 
daughter-in-law. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Dix,  "  I  hardly 
felt  like  saying  anything  before  her.  She  is  so 
old  and  innocent." 

"Is  n't  she!"  said  Mrs.  Osgood. 

Virginia,  much  exercised  over  the  health  of 
Aberdeen  Boy,  had  gone  out  to  the  barn  to  have 
a  talk  with  Uncle  Israel,  who,  with  a  peacock 
fly-fan  moving  majestically  back  and  forth,  was 
sitting  up  with  eighteen  hundred  pounds  of  sick 
bull.  Aberdeen  Boy,  a  recent  importation,  and 
one  of  the  noblest  of  those  who  were  to  refine  the 
wild-eyed  longhorns  ofTexas, was  having  no  more 
trouble  with  acclimation  than  his  predecessors ; 
he  manifested  his  illness'  simply  by  lying  down 
and  looking  more  innocent  than  usual,  and  heav- 
ing big  sighs  which  wrung  Virginia's  heart. 

In  the  sitting-room  the  study  of  Steve  Brown 
went  forward  prosperously  again,  but  especially 
now  in  regard  to  the  woman  in  the  case.  If  the 

117 


The  Wrong  Woman 

one  they  named  was  anywhere  within  range  of 
psychic  influence,  it  is  safe  to  say  her  left  ear 
burned  that  evening.  And  when,  finally,  it  was 
all  over,  the  guests,  departing,  paused  at  the  gate 
and  turned  their  thoughts  to  the  rocks  there 
assembled. 

"  What  will  we  do  ?  I  would  n't  carry  mine 
for  anything,"  said  Mrs.  Norton. 

"  Why,  leave  them  here.  We  '11  have  Jonas 
Hicks  come  and  get  them,"  said  Mrs.  Harmon. 


CHAPTER  VII 

JANET  caught  her  breath  and  looked  about  her. 
It  was  the  same  shack  on  a  hillock,  the  same 
gully  and  sheep-pen  and  dog,  likewise  the  same 
Mr.  Brown.  Under  the  circumstances,  it  was 
natural  for  her  to  try  to  say  something,  and  she 
did  the  best  she  could.  When  he  had  gathered, 
from  her  rather  unexplanatory  remarks,  just  what 
had  happened,  the  first  thought  that  crossed  his 
mind  was  that  he  had  eaten  the  last  piece  of  fruit- 
cake which  she  left  behind.  If  there  is  anything 
embarrassing  to  a  man,  it  is  to  have  company 
come  unexpectedly  when  there  is  not  a  thing  fit 
to  eat  in  the  house.  He  had  finished  up  the  cake 
a  short  while  before,  together  with  the  remainder 
of  crackers  and  a  dill  pickle. 

"  I  have  eaten  up  all  the  good  stuff,"  he  ex- 
plained. "  Do  you  like  beans  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  answered  Janet,  who  was  truly 
hungry. 

He  lifted  the  lid  of  the  box  and  produced  a 
small  iron  pot  of  boiled  beans.  They  were  beans 

119 


The  Wrong  Woman 

of  the  Mexican  variety,  a  kind  which  look  nice 
and  brown  because  they  are  that  color  before  you 
cook  them.  When  he  had  put  some  bacon  into 
the  frying-pan  and  given  it  time  to  heat,  he 
scraped  the  beans  in  and  stirred  them  up.  He 
had  made  bread  for  supper  by  the  usual  method 
of  baking  soft  dough  in  a  skillet  with  the  lid  on  ; 
there  was  left  of  this  a  wedge  big  enough  to  split 
the  stoutest  appetite ;  and  when  he  had  placed 
this  where  it  would  warm  up,  he  turned  his  atten- 
tion to  the  coffee-pot. 

"  Oh,  you  do  not  need  to  do  that.  I  can  make 
my  own  coffee,"  offered  Janet.1 

"You  had  better  let  me  get  supper,"  he  an- 
swered. "  You  're  tired." 

Several  times  during  the  day  she  had  pondered 
upon  his  high-handed  way  of  taking  charge  of 
her  affairs.  Submitting  to  this  further  dictation, 
she  spread  her  slicker  before  her  place  at  table, 
as  indicated  by  the  bare  spot  of  ground,  and  sat 
down.  Mr.  Brown  took  a  bucket  and  disappeared 
in  the  gully.  Evidently  he  had  gone  to  get  fresh 
water.  Janet  now  put  her  feet  out  farther  toward 
the  fire. 

When  he  returned,  he  made  some  remarks 
1 20 


The  Wrong  Woman 

upon  the  weather  and  put  on  the  coffee ;  then  he 
turned  about  and  went  into  the  shack.  As  on  the 
previous  evening,  everything  came  tumbling  pell- 
mell  out  of  the  door.  Janet,  having  nothing  else 
to  do,  looked  up  and  gave  her  attention  to  a  big 
sixteen-carat  star. 

Shep,  the  dog,  came  and  planted  himself  at  the 
very  edge  of  the  bare  spot.  Without  giving  her 
so  much  as  a  glance,  he  sat  there  primly  and 
looked  straight  off  the  end  of  his  nose  at  the 
sugar  bowl  in  the  middle.  Not  till  this  moment 
had  Janet  realized  what  a  beautiful,  intelligent- 
looking  collie  dog  Mr.  Brown  had.  His  brown- 
buff  coat,  of  just  the  right  shade,  seemed  slightly 
veiled  with  black ;  his  full  out-arching  front  was 
pure  white. 

"  Shep,"  said  Janet. 

His  fine  eyebrow  rose  as  he  gave  her  a  look — 
a  very  short  one,  however.  When  she  addressed 
him  again  she  could  see  his  interest  rising  a  de- 
gree ;  finally  he  came  and  sat  down  beside  her. 
Encouraged  by  this  show  of  friendship,  Janet  put 
her  hand  on  him. 

When  her  host  had  got  through  with  the  more 
violent  exercises  of  practical  courtesy,  —  which 

121 


The  Wrong  Woman 

sounded  somewhat  like  trouble  in  a  barroom, — 
he  came  out  bearing  a  jug  marked  MOLASSES; 
this  he  set  down  before  her,  and  then,  finding 
the  coffee  done,  he  proceeded  to  serve  up  the 
viands. 

"  That  is  n't  much  of  a  supper,"  he  remarked, 
sitting  down  opposite. 

"  It  tastes  very  good,"  said  Janet. 

It  hardly  did  seem  the  right  thing  to  set  be- 
fore such  a  guest.  But  Janet,  as  good  as  her 
word,  steadily  made  way  with  the  frijole  beans 
and  did  full  justice  to  the  hot  bread ;  and  soon, 
inspirited  by  his  powerful  coffee,  she  continued 
the  story  of  how  she  was  frightened  by  the  steer 
and  baffled  by  the  brook,  and  how  she  was  fool- 
ish enough  to  think  she  was  going  straight  for- 
ward all  the  time. 

He  had  a  way,  whenever  she  came  to  a  pause, 
of  enticing  her  to  go  on.  Sometimes  he  primed 
the  conversation  by  repeating  the  last  thing  she 
had  said;  again,  an  apt  word  or  two  summed  up 
the  whole  spirit  of  the  matter  encouragingly  ;  or 
there  would  be  just  a  composed  waiting  for  her 
to  resume. 

Not  that  he  had  any  difficulty  in  finding  some- 
122 


The  Wrong  Woman 

thing  to  say.  He  evidently  liked  to  hear  her  talk, 
and  so  he  rather  deferred  to  her.  Whether  it  was 
that  she  now  had  a  feeling  of  this,  or  that  there 
was  something  in  the  influence  of  his  presence,  his 
voice  and  manner,  which  removed  all  constraint, 
Janet  had  not  the  least  difficulty  in  talking.  She 
told  him  how  the  teacher  at  the  school  "boarded 
round,"  what  an  unnecessary  number  of  classes 
Miss  Porter  had  for  so  small  a  number  of  pupils, 

—  although  it  was  difficult  to  remedy  the  matter 
by  "setting  back  "  certain  children,  because  their 
proud  mothers  would  object  to  such  a  leveling, 

—  and  how  the  Blodgett  children,  four  of  them, 
all  came  to  school  on  the  back  of  one  buckskin 
pony,  the  youngest  having  to  hold  on  tight  to 
keep  from  slipping  off  at  the  tail.  "  Buckskin,"  it 
seemed,  had  won  quite  a  place  in  Janet's  affec- 
tions, although  he  was  the  worst  behaved  horse 
that  came  to  school.  He  used  to  graze  in  the 
yard  till  school  was  out,  —  the  other  horses  being 
staked  out  on  the  prairie,  —  and  he  had  become 
so  familiar  that  he  would  sometimes  go  so  far  as 
to  put  his  head  in  at  the  window  in  hope  of 
being  fed.  And  Janet  could  not  see,  considering 
that  Texas  horses  were  used  to  being  staked  out, 

123 


The  Wrong  Woman 

what  reason  there  had  been  for  building  a  fence 
around  a  school  that  stood  out  on  open  prairie, 
unless  it  was,  perchance,  that  the  Texans  thought 
they  ought  to  have  a  corral  to  herd  the  children 
in. 

While  she  was  thus  going  on,  there  came  from 
the  corral  a  bleat  in  the  awe-inspiring  tone  of 
Fa,  and  this  was  followed  by  a  succession  of  bleats 
which  reminded  her  of  nothing  so  much  as  a 
child  getting  its  hands  on  the  keyboard  of  an  or- 
gan. Steve,  as  if  suddenly  admonished  of  some- 
thing, rose  to  his  feet,  excused  himself,  and  dis- 
appeared in  the  direction  of  the  corral. 

With  the  place  before  her  temporarily  vacant, 
and  unable  to  see  out  of  her  circle  of  light  except 
by  looking  upward,  Janet  instinctively  lifted  her 
eyes  to  the  scene  above.  Thousands  and  thou- 
sands of  stars  made  the  night  big  and  beautiful. 
They  were  so  clear  and  so  lively,  as  if  they  took 
joy  in  their  shining.  A  mild  southern  breeze  gave 
the  night  motion  and  perfume.  Janet  took  a  deep 
breath  which  was  hardly  a  sigh ;  it  was  rather  a 
big  drink  of  air  and  the  final  suspiration  of  all 
her  worries.  As  she  took  in  more  deeply  the  con- 
stellated heavens  and  the  free  fresh  spirit  of  the 

124 


The  Wrong  Woman 

roaming  air,  she  began  to  feel  that  she  would 
father  like  to  be  a  sheep-herder  herself.  From 
looking  at  so  many,  her  mind  turned  back  to 
her  selected  star,  the  "  captain  jewel "  of  them 
all,  and  her  eye  sought  its  whereabouts  again.  In 
others  she  could  see  tremulous  tinges  of  red  and 
blue;  but  this  seemed  to  be  the  pure  spirit  of 
light.  Unconsciously  she  had  put  her  arm  around 
the  dog,  as  if  to  hold  on  to  this  earth,  and  Shep, 
whose  affection  had  been  steadily  growing,  nudged 
up  closer  and  gave  her  a  sense  of  warm  compan- 
ionship. 

When  Steve  returned  from  his  mysterious  er- 
rand, he  looked  at  her  a  moment  and  then  fetched 
an  armful  of  wood.  The  fire,  to  serve  better  the 
purposes  of  cooking,  had  been  allowed  to  burn 
down  to  coals,  and  the  smouldering  embers  now 
gave  so  little  light  that  the  face  and  figure  of  his 
guest  were  losing  themselves  in  obscurity.  As 
this  state  of  affairs  hardly  suited  him,  he  piled 
on  the  dry  mesquite  brush  and  fanned  it  with 
his  hat  into  leaping  flames.  When  Janet  was  lit 
up  to  his  satisfaction,  he  put  down  the  hat  and 
resumed  his  earthen  lounge. 

As  he  stretched  himself  out  before  her,  lithe- 
125 


The  Wrong  Woman 

limbed  and  big-chested,  the  atmosphere  of  that 
firelit  place  seemed  filled  with  a  sense  of  safety. 
His  deliberate  manner  of  speech,  quite  different 
from  the  slowness  of  a  drawl,  was  the  natural 
voice  of  that  big  starry  world  so  generous  of  time. 
Occasionally  he  made  a  remark  which  ought  to  have 
been  flattery,  but  which,  coming  from  him,  was  so 
quiet  and  true  that  one  might  float  on  it  to  topics  of 
unknown  depth.  He  was  so  evidently  interested  in 
everything  she  said,  and  his  attention  was  so  single- 
minded  and  sincere,  that  Janet  was  soon  chatting 
again  upon  the  subject  of  her  recent  circumnavi- 
gation of  the  prairie,  which,  as  she  now  saw  it  in 
the  light  of  the  present,  seemed  more  and  more 
a  sea  of  flowers  — as  the  Past  always  does.  Indeed, 
the  whole  recent  course  of  her  experience  was 
such  a  novelty  —  the  trip  to  Texas  was  her  first  real 
adventure  in  the  world  —  that  she  saw  things 
with  the  new  vision  of  a  traveler  ;  and  the  present 
situation,  turning  out  so  happily,  put  the  cap- 
sheaf  on  that  dream  which  is  truly  Life.  Janet, 
recently  delivered  from  all  danger,  and  yet  sitting 
right  in  the  middle  of  her  adventures,  had  a 
double  advantage;  she  was  living  in  the  present 
as  well  as  the  past,  breathing  the  sweetness  of  the 

126 


The  Wrong  Woman 

air,  looking  up  at  the  big  flock  of  stars  and  see- 
ing in  them  all  nothing  less  than  the  divine 
shepherding. 

"  But,  of  all  the  wonderful  things  I  ever  saw," 
she  exclaimed.  "Why,  it  was  worth  walking  all 
day  to  see  it." 

"What  was  it?"  he  asked. 

"  Sensitive  plants.  And  when  I  came  they  all 
lowered  their  branches  to  their  sides  like  —  well, 
slowly,  like  this — " 

She  held  her  right  arm  out  straight  and  low- 
ered it  slowly  and  steadily  to  her  side.  And  a 
most  graceful  and  shapely  arm  it  was. 

"  I  would  n't  have  been  so  much  surprised," 
she  continued,  "to  just  see  leaves  fold  together, 
like  clover.  You  know  clover  leaves  all  shut  up 
at  night  and  go  to  sleep.  But  these  plants  were 
quite  large  and  they  actually  moved.  And  of 
course  the  leaves  shut  together,  too ;  they  were 
long  like  little  tender  locust  leaves,  and  each  one 
folded  itself  right  in  the  middle." 

She  placed  her  hands  edge  to  edge  and  closed 
them  together  to  show  him. 

"  But,  you  know,  while  they  were  doing  that, 
they  were  folding  back  against  their  long  stems, 

127 


The  Wrong  Woman 

and  the  stems  were  folding  back  against  the 
branches,  and  the  straight  branches  were  all  fold- 
ing downwards  against  the  main  stalk.  What  I 
mean  is  that  everything  worked  together,  like 
this—" 

Janet  extended  both  arms  with  her  fingers 
widely  spread  ;  then,  as  her  arms  gradually  low- 
ered, her  fingers  closed  together. 

"It  was  something  like  that,"  she  added, 
"but  not  exactly;  it  was  ten  times  as  much  — 
something  like  the  ribs  of  an  umbrella  going 
down  all  around,  with  stems  and  rows  of  locust 
leaves  all  along  them  closing  together.  And  every 
little  leaf  was  like  a  rabbit  laying  back  its  ears." 

"  Yes ;  I  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Steve. 
"  They  are  a  kind  of  mimosa.  Some  people  call 
them  that." 

"  Well,"  said  Janet,  "  I  sat  and  watched  one. 
I  just  touched  it  with  a  hatpin  and  it  did  that. 
A  person  would  almost  think  it  had  intelligence. 
And  after  a  while  —  when  it  thought  I  was  gone, 
I  suppose  —  it  began  to  open  its  leaves  and  stems 
and  put  its  arms  out  again." 

She  raised  her  arms  slowly,  spreading  her  fin- 
gers. Steve  was  a  most  attentive  listener  and 

128 


The  Wrong  Woman 

spectator.    He  rather  wished  there  were  other 
plants  to  imitate. 

"  But  that  wasn't  really  what  I  started  to  tell 
about,"  she  went  on.  "  As  I  was  walking  along 
I  came  to  a  —  well,  you  might  say  a  whole  crowd 
of  them.  There  was  quite  a  growth  like  a  patch  of 
ferns.  I  had  n't  got  to  them  yet,  or  even  taken 
particular  notice  of  them,  —  I  must  have  been 
ten 'or  twelve  feet  away,  —  when  they  all  began 
to  close  up.  I  stopped  perfectly  still ;  and  pretty 
soon  the  green  leaves  were  gone  and  the  place  was 
all  changed.  Now,  how  do  you  suppose  those 
plants  ever  knew  I  was  coming  ?  I  would  give 
anything  to  know  how  such  things  can  be." 

"  How  much  would  you  give  ? "  inquired  Steve. 

For  a  moment,  the  spirit  of  this  question  hung 
in  the  balance.  He  felt  the  spell  of  her  inquiring 
eyes  as  her  hand  dropped  idly  on  Shep's  back. 

"Why  —  do  you  know?  "  she  asked  doubt- 
fully. 

"  I  think  I  do,"  he  answered.  "  You  see,  that 
kind  of  plants  have  very  long  roots ;  they  run 
away  out.  You  stepped  on  their  toes." 

"Well,  I  declare,"  said  Janet,  enthusiastic 
again.  "  And  what  a  way  of  saying  it." 

129 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  It  looks  simple  enough,  does  n't  it?  "  he  re- 
marked. 

"  And  I  never  thought  of  it.  Why,  it  was 
enough  to  make  a  person  superstitious.  Isn't 
nature  wonderful !  " 

As  she  took  up  the  coffee,  too  long  neglected, 
Steve  got  an  imaginary  taste  of  it,  and  finding  it 
neither  hot  nor  cold,  he  arose  and  took  her  cup. 
Having  refilled  it  and  offered  her  more  of  the 
beans,  which  to  his  surprise  and  gratification  she 
accepted,  he  made  another  trip  to  the  corral.  In 
a  little  while  he  returned  and  promptly  took  his 
place. 

"  You  were  saying  this  morning,"  he  began, 
"  that  you  were  going  to  the  county-seat.  Were 
you  sure  that  you  could  find  your  way  all 
alone?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  Janet.  "  I  was  there  be- 
fore. You  see,  I  took  an  examination  a  couple 
of  months  ago,  when  I  first  came." 

"  Oh;  that's  it.  What  sort  of  a  certificate  did 
that  little  —  examiner  —  give  you  ?  " 

There  was  something  in  the  sound  of  this 
question  which  conveyed  to  her  that  he  regarded 
her  standing  in  an  examination  largely  as  a  mat- 

130 


The  Wrong  Woman 

ter  of  luck.  Janet  felt  an  instant  approval  of  this 
philosophy  of  the  matter. 

"Third-class,"  she  answered. 

"Well,  that's  better  than  fourth-class,"  he  re- 
marked. 

"  Oh  —  but  there  is  no  fourth-class,"  exclaimed 
Janet. 

Her  eyes  widened  as  she  waited  to  hear  what 
his  reply  to  this  might  be. 

He  entirely  ignored  the  matter. 

"That  examiner  is  a  kind  of  a  cocky  little 
rooster,  isn't  he?"  he  commented. 

"Did  you  ever  have  any  trouble  with  him  ?" 
inquired  Janet. 

"Me  !  "   He  was  evidently  surprised  that  she 

should  think  so.  "  Why,  no.  I  don't  know  him. 
I  just  saw  him  a  few  times.  He  is  a  sort  of  a 
dried-up  little  party.  You  know  I  get  up  to  the 
court-house  once  in  a  while  to  have  a  brand 
registered  or  something  like  that." 

"  He  is  rather  important  — for  his  size,"  mused 
Janet.  "  And  very  particular  about  his  looks." 

"  They  have  a  man  teacher  at  a  school  near 
my  house,"  remarked  Steve,  in  no  seeming  con- 
nection. 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  I  suppose  he  has  a  first-class  certificate," 
said  Janet.  "  Until  lately  it  was  easy  to  get  a 
school  in  Texas.  But  the  country  school  boards 
rate  you  by  your  certificate  more  and  more.  This 
time  I  am  going  to  get  first-class,  or  at  least 
second.  If  I  don't  I  '11  have  to  go  back  North." 

"  What  kind  of  questions  does  that  fellow  ask 
when  he  examines  people?"  Steve  inquired. 

"Well  —  for  instance  —  c  Give  the  source  and 
course  of  the  Orizaba."1 

"  Huh  ! "  remarked  Steve. 

"  To  tell  the  truth,"  said  Janet,  "  I  would  n't 
have  got  even  third-class  if  it  had  n't  been  for 
the  way  I  pulled  through  in  geography." 

"  Are  you  good  in  geography  ?  " 

"Hardly.  I  just  passed.  He  asked  a  great 
many  questions  about  climate,  and  every  time  he 
asked  that  I  wrote  that  it  was  salubrious.  You 
see,"  she  explained,  with  a  sly  little  air,  "  in  the 
children's  geographies  the  climate  of  a  country 
is  nearly  always  salubrious.  So  I  took  a  chance 
on  every  country.  That  brought  my  average  up." 

"  Good  for  you,"  exclaimed  Steve.  "  Nothing 
like  beating  them  at  their  own  game.  Won't  you 
have  some  more  coffee  ?  " 

132 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Janet.  "  Two  cups  is 
really  more  than  I  ought  to  drink  at  night." 

Having  risen  in  expectation  of  getting  the  cof- 
fee, he  gave  the  fire  another  armful  of  mesquite. 

"  You  take  a  good  deal  of  notice  of  flowers,  don't 
you ! "  he  said,  sitting  down  again. 

"A  person  could  hardly  help  it  in  Texas. 
Lilies  and  trumpet-flowers  and  lobelias  and 
asters  and  dahlias  and  wax-plants  —  they  all  grow 
wild  here.  And  in  spring  it  is  just  wonderful. 
There  is  scarcely  room  for  grass." 

"  Texas  won't  be  like  that  long,  if  it  keeps  on." 

"No?" 

"  These  plants  all  grow  from  seed.  And  when 
the  land  is  heavily  grazed  they  don't  have  a 
chance  to  plant  themselves.  They  become  — 
what  do  you  call  it — extinguished?" 

"Extinct,"  prompted  Janet. 

"On  my  ranch,  about  twelve  miles  from  here, 
it  isn't  what  it  used  to  be  in  springtime.  We've 
got  it  pretty  heavily  stocked  ;  we  're  working  it 
over  into  shorthorn.  This  place  that  we're  on 
now  has  a  fence  all  around  it ;  the  country  is 
becoming  crowded.  And  they  are  breaking  farms 
all  the  time,  too.  It  won't  last  long." 

'33 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"Won't  that  be  a  shame!"  said  Janet. 
"  People  spoil  everything,  don't  they  ?  I  am 
glad  I  came  down  here  just  to  see  the  Texas 
prairie  in  spring.  Even  if  I  do  have  to  go  back 
again.  Just  look  at  that!  " 

She  reached  out,  and,  grasping  a  handful,  she 
bent  the  still  rooted  bouquet  so  that  the  light 
shone  full  upon  its  countenance. 

"  How  did  you  come  to  know  the  names  of 
them  all  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Why,  we  grow  them  in  gardens  up  North. 
I  know  their  names  in  that  way.  They  are  old 
acquaintances." 

"Oh,  that 'sit.  Well,  it  isn't  hard  to  grow 
them  here.  Us  fellows  out  on  the  prairie  make 
all  our  flower-beds  round." 

Janet  paused. 

"  Oh !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You  mean  the  horizon. 
Is  n't  that  an  idea  !  I  am  going  to  tell  that  to  Ruth 
Ferguson  the  first  time  I  write." 

Steve  made  no  reply.  Janet  gave  her  attention 
for  a  space  to  the  beans.  Then,  suddenly  reminded, 
she  put  down  her  fork. 

"Mr.  Brown  !  If  you  were  teaching  just  ten 
or  twelve  children,  wouldn't  it  strike  you  as  rather 

'34 


The  Wrong  Woman 

foolish  to  call  the  roll  every  morning  ?  You 
know  there  were  only  fourteen  pupils  in  the 
school  where  I  was  substituting  ;  so  of  course  I 
got  acquainted  with  them  all  right  away.  Well,  one 
morning  when  the  weather  was  bad  there  were 
only  six  present ;  so  when  the  hour  came  I  just 
began  to  teach.  But  a  little  boy  who  is  in  the 
first  reader  held  up  his  hand  and  told  me  I  had 
to  call  the  roll  first.  I  could  hardly  keep  from 
smiling.  As  if  I  could  n't  see  the  six  that  were 
there.  Then  I  made  inquiry  and  I  found  that 
Miss  Porter  called  the  roll  when  there  were 
only  four  there.  Does  n't  it  seem  funny  for  a 
person  to  go  through  a  formality  like  that  just 
because  —  well,  just  because  ?  " 

"  That 's  because  you  Ve  got  sense,"  said  Steve. 

She  dropped  her  eyes  and  ate.  When  this  re- 
mark had  had  time  to  pass  over,  Janet's  sociable 
spirit,  never  self-conscious  for  long,  began  to  un- 
fold its  leaves  and  raise  its  stems  and  lift  up  its 
branches  again. 

In  this  juncture,  the  dog  profited.  Shep  had  been 
giving  her  such  unremitting  attention,  his  wistful 
brown  eyes  following  each  forkful  as  it  went  from 
plate  to  mouth,  that  Janet's  consciousness  of  her 

'35 


The  Wrong  Woman 

selfish  situation  kept  bearing  in  upon  her  till  now 
every  bean  carried  reproach  with  it.  Thinking  to 
convince  him  that  it  was  only  beans,  and  not  de- 
sirable, she  put  him  down  a  forkful  from  her  own 
too  generous  allowance.  She  was  surprised  at  the 
suddenness  with  which  it  disappeared.  Beans  were 
his  staff  of  life  also,  a  discovery  which  made  her 
smile.  And  as  one  good  turn  deserves  another — 
at  least  Shep  seemed  to  think  so  —  she  was  ex- 
pected to  do  it  again ;  thus  supper,  with  his  as- 
sistance, was  soon  over.  And  now  Janet,  with 
nothing  whatever  to  do,  sat  face  to  face  with  her 
situation. 

"  Have  you  got  a  dishpan  ? "  she  inquired. 

"  Oh,  you  don't  need  to  mind  that.  I  have  n't 
got  anything  you  are  used  to.  I  just  take  them 
down  to  the  stream  and  swab  them  off  with  a 
bunch  of  dry  grass." 

"  Oh  !  "  remarked  Janet. 

She  felt,  however,  that  it  would  be  easier  to  be 
doing  something.  She  gathered  things  together 
and  made  general  unrest  among  the  dishes.  Mr. 
Brown,  instead  of  being  stirred  by  this  operation 
of  cleaning  up,  stretched  himself  out  more  con- 
tentedly, moved  up  a  little  closer,  and  took  still 

136 


The  Wrong  Woman 

fuller  possession  of  her  presence;  and  as  he  did 
so  he  poked  up  the  fire  and  struck  her  a  light  on 
a  new  topic.  But  this  time  the  train  of  conversa- 
tion did  not  catch.  Janet  was  thinking.  And  like 
most  of  us  she  could  not  talk  well  while  thinking. 

Mr.  Brown  seemed  quite  contented,  then,  with 
silence  and  peace.  Evidently  he  too  was  thinking. 
After  a  little  time  he  sat  up  and  reached  into  an 
inside  pocket.  He  drew  forth  a  large  leather  wal- 
let which,  upon  being  opened,  disclosed  two  com- 
partments well  filled  with  bank-notes  and  doc- 
umentary-looking papers.  There  was  another 
compartment  with  a  flap  on  it  and  a  separate 
fastening,  opening  which  he  took  out  an  object 
wrapped  in  tissue  paper.  Having  carefully  un- 
wrapped it,  he  folded  the  paper  again  and  placed 
it  where  it  would  not  blow  away. 

"  That 's  my  mother's  picture,"  he  said,  hand- 
ing it  over  formally  to  his  guest. 

Janet  received  it  rather  vaguely  and  sat  looking 
at  it,  saying  nothing. 

"She  died  just  last  winter,"  he  added,  in  his 
usual  deliberate  way. 

"Oh,  did  she?" 

What  else  to  say,  she  hardly  knew.  Turning 

137 


The  Wrong  Woman 

it  to  the  light  she  studied  it  more  closely  and 
noted  each  resemblance  to  his  own  features,  look- 
ing up  at  him  in  an  impersonal  sort  of  way  and 
with  a  soberness  of  countenance  which  was  a  re- 
flection of  his  own  entirely  serious  mood. 

"  She  had  a  very  kind-looking  face,"  she  said. 

To  this  there  was  no  reply.  Janet,  about  to 
hand  it  back,  was  momentarily  in  doubt  as  to  how 
long  a  proper  respect  should  prompt  her  to  re- 
tain it;  this,  however,  settled  itself  when  she 
observed  that  he  had  ready  to  offer  her  a  long 
newspaper  clipping. 

"  I  had  the  editor  put  some  of  that  in  myself," 
he  said,  reaching  the  long  ribbon  of  paper  over 
to  her. 

It  was  an  obituary  of  Mrs.  Stephen  P.  Brown, 
who  passed  to  "  the  realms  beyond "  on  the 
eighteenth  of  November.  With  this  Janet  found 
no  difficulty. 

"  But,"  he  added  suddenly  as  it  occurred  to 
him,  "  I  did  n't  have  him  print  that  part  at  the 
bottom.  He  just  put  that  in  himself.  I  mean 
that  stuff"  about  me." 

Janet  at  once  turned  her  attention  to  the  bot- 
tom. He  sat  silently  with  the  wallet  in  hand,  his 

138 


The  Wrong  Woman 

countenance  a  shade  more  solemn  than  usual.  In 
the  midst  of  this  waiting  there  came  a  wail  from 
the  corral  and  he  left  suddenly  upon  one  of  his 
unexplained  errands,  this  time  without  excusing 
himself.  He  got  back  while  Janet  was  still  en- 
gaged upon  the  article.  When  she  looked  up  he 
was  standing  beside  the  fire  looking  down  at  her. 
There  was  something  new  in  his  face,  a  look  half 
lugubrious,  semi-humorous,  apologetic. 

"We've  got  another  lamb,"  he  announced. 

"  Oh  !  —  another  little  lamb?"  she  exclaimed. 

"There  are  only  three  so  far.  Three  lambs  and 
two  mothers.  It  has  n't  really  got  started  yet,  but 
I  'm  afraid  it  will.  My  herder  ought  to  have  got 
back  yesterday  and  brought  help  along." 

"  Then  you  have  a  great  deal  to  do  ? "  queried 
Janet. 

"Yes;  after  it  once  gets  really  started.  Then 
it  never  rains  but  it  pours.  I  have  been  hoping 
it  would  hold  off  a  day  or  two  longer ;  but  you 
can't  tell  exactly." 

He  put  more  wood  on  the  fire  and  took  his 
place  again. 

"You  mustn't  let  me  interfere  with  your 
work,"  she  suggested. 

139 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  Oh,  that  is  n't  it  at  all.  I  was  just  explaining. 
I'll  get  through  somehow ;  it  won't  amount  to 
anything." 

With  a  characteristic  sweep  of  his  arm  he  waved 
the  whole  subject  aside  as  if  he  did  not  want  to 
have  it  interfere  with  her  reading  of  the  news- 
paper clipping.  Janet  had  dropped  it  absent- 
mindedly  in  her  lap;  she  now  took  it  up  again. 
Besides  the  tribute  to  Mrs.  Brown's  character, 
who  was  not  a  native  of  Texas  but  had  come  to 
the  state  in  her  girlhood  from  West  Virginia, 
there  was  a  considerable  memoir  of  Stephen 
Brown,  senior,  relating  his  activities  and  advent- 
ures as  a  Texas  patriot.  He  had  "  crossed  the 
Great  Divide "  six  years  before.  Finally,  there 
was  a  paragraph  of  sympathy  with  the  only  son, 
"  one  of  our  most  valued  citizens." 

"Your  father  knew  Houston,  didn't  he?" 
remarked  Janet. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  he  knew  a  lot  about  him." 

"  How  interesting  that  must  have  been.  Your 
father  was  a  pioneer,  was  n't  he  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  You  Ve  got  to  go  back  pretty  far 
in  history  to  be  a  Texas  pioneer.  He  was  just 
a  Texan." 

140 


The  Wrong  Woman 

She  gave  another  perusal  to  certain  parts  and 
offered  it  back. 

"  There  is  another  piece  on  the  other  side,"  he 
said. 

She  turned  it  over  and  found  a  shorter  clip- 
ping carefully  pasted  to  the  back.  This  also  she 
read. 

AN   ARTISTIC    MONUMENT 


MR.  STEPHEN  BROWN  yesterday  received 
from  Austin  the  monument  which  he  had  made 
for  the  grave  of  his  mother,  Mrs.  Stephen  P. 
Brown,  who  died  last  November.  It  is  a  most 
beautiful  work  of  art  and  was  much  admired  by 
those  who  saw  it.  It  is  a  massive  block  of  im- 
ported gray  granite  skillfully  carved  with  clus- 
ters of  grapes  in  high  relief.  Mr.  Brown  ordered 
it  from  the  leading  marble-cutters  in  Austin. 
The  reverse  side  of  the  stone  was  cut  after  his 
own  design,  and  consists  simply  of  a  Lone  Star. 
On  the  base  is  the  word  Mother.  Many  of  our 
citizens  were  enabled  to  inspect  it  as  it  went  up 
Main  Street,  Mr.  Jonas  Hicks  stopping  his  three 
yoke  of  oxen  to  accommodate  those  who  wished 
to  look  it  over.  It  will  be  by  far  the  most  beauti- 
ful work  of  art  in  our  local  cemetery. 
141 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Janet  folded  up  the  clipping  carefully,  accord- 
ing to  the  creases  in  it,  and  passed  it  back.  When 
he  had  returned  it  to  its  compartment  in  the  wal- 
let, —  an  operation  which  was  somewhat  delayed 
by  his  difficulties  with  the  tissue  paper  around  the 
picture,  —  she  questioned  him  further  about  the 
Comanche  Indians  and  his  father's  adventures 
in  the  war  with  Mexico.  Now  the  conversational 
situation  was  turned  about,  Janet  becoming  the 
interlocutor;  and  as  she  had  the  advantage  of  so 
copious  a  source  of  information,  there  was  no  end 
to  her  questioning.  And  as  the  stream  of  talk 
broadened,  it  began  to  include  his  own  experi- 
ences and  adventures,  most  interesting  of  which, 
to  Janet,  was  a  short  account  of  the  fight  of  a 
sheriff's  posse  with  the  train-robbers  intrenched 
near  the  Post  Oaks,  a  most  determined  encounter 
in  which  the  sheriff  was  among  those  killed  while 
Steve  Brown  received  only  a  blunted  thumb,  for 
the  clumsy  appearance  of  which  his  story  was 
rather  an  apology. 

"That's  all  I  got,"  he  said.  "And  it  works  as 
good  as  ever." 

To  demonstrate  which  fact,  he  held  it  up  and 
made  it  work. 

142 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Now  that  she  had  material  by  which  to  lead 
the  conversation,  she  found  him  not  nearly  so 
taciturn  as  she  had  at  first  thought  him.  In- 
deed, he  talked  on  without  remembering  to  fix 
the  fire.  And  when  it  had  nearly  faded  out  he 
continued  on,  unconscious  of  the  fact  that  the 
real  Janet  was  no  longer  in  sight  except  as  she 
was  partially  lit  by  the  moon  which  now  hove 
upon  the  scene. 

"  But  I  am  keeping  you  up  too  late,"  she 
said,  suddenly  rising. 

Steve  gathered  himself  together  and  stood  up, 
hat  in  hand. 

"  Oh,  I  am  used  to  all  hours,"  he  said.  "  Any- 
way, I  've  got  to  keep  an  eye  on  things." 

"  And  I  am  sorry  to  put  you  out,"  she  added. 

"  Don't  mention  it.  I  put  myself  out.  I  could 
let  you  have  a  lantern  if  you  need  it.  There  's  a 
piece  of  candle  and  some  matches  on  the  top 
bunk.  It's  down  near  the  foot." 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  all  the  light  I  need.  Good- 
night." 

"  Good-night,  Miss  Janet,"  —  saluting  her  by 
raising  his  hat  to  the  side  of  his  head  and  then 
bringing  it  down  with  a  large  sweep. 

143 


The  Wrong  Woman 

When  the  door  had  closed  upon  her  and  the 
shack  showed  light  at  all  its  cracks,  he  turned 
and  went  to  the  corral,  closely  followed  by  Shep. 
He  took  a  look  at  the  two  sheep,  each  confined 
in  one  of  the  narrow  little  prison-pens  along  with 
the  lamb  whose  property  it  was.  The  lambs  were 
evidently  full  of  milk ;  they  were  sleeping.  See- 
ing that  all  was  well,  he  got  an  old  discarded 
saddle  out  of  the  shed,  threw  it  on  his  shoulder, 
and  descended  to  the  general  level  to  find  him- 
self a  buffalo-wallow.  Having  picked  one  out  he 
kicked  a  longhorn  skull  away  from  its  vicinity, 
threw  the  saddle  down  at  its  edge,  and  lined  the 
grassy  interior  with  his  slicker.  Then  he  sat 
down  in  the  middle,  crushing  the  slicker  deep 
into  the  spring  bloom.  Here  he  sat  a  while. 

It  is  not  easy  for  the  human  mind,  constituted 
as  it  is,  to  pick  out  a  bed  on  a  prairie.  It  offers 
such  a  large  field  of  choice,  and  no  grounds  for 
preference.  Steve  had  long  ago  formed  the  habit 
of  sleeping  in  a  wallow,  always  to  be  found  within 
a  short  distance,  and,  when  found,  possessing  the 
advantage  of  being  a  "  place."  Such  a  place  — 
a  bowl-like  depression  —  was  made  by  the  bison 
who  pawed  away  the  tough  sward  to  get  at 

144 


The  Wrong  Woman 

mother  earth,  and  then  wore  it  deep  and  circular 
as  he  tried  to  roll  on  his  unwieldy  hump.  Steve 
Brown,  anywhere  between  Texas  and  Montana, 
had  often  slept  in  the  "  same  old  place,"  though 
in  a  different  locality,  and  for  some  reason  he 
was  never  so  content  —  either  because  it  was 
really  a  "  place,"  or  because  he  liked  a  bed  that 
sagged  in  the  middle,  or  because  (which  is  more 
likely)  he  found  a  certain  atmosphere  of  sleep  in 
one  of  these  places  so  long  ago  dedicated  to  rest 
and  comfort.  Which  hollow  is  all  that  is  now 
left  of  the  buffalo  —  a  vacancy. 

He  sat  down  in  the  middle,  his  attention  fixed 
upon  the  shack,  which  now  existed  as  a  sort  of 
picture  of  itself  drawn  in  lines  of  light.  When 
suddenly  it  was  erased  from  the  night,  he  pressed 
the  slicker  down  and  lay  back  with  his  head  in 
the  saddle.  He  folded  his  hands  and  waited, 
looking  straight  up.  In  a  little  while  the  world 
receded  and  he  was  only  conscious  of  sundry 
stars.  Thus,  looking  heaven  in  the  eye,  his  hands 
clasped  across  his  chest,  Steve  Brown  sunk  to 
sleep,  his  head  and  feet  sticking  up  at  the  ends. 
Again  Eternity  held  sway ;  and  only  Shep  was 
left. 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Shep  turned  round  and  round  till  he  had  tramp- 
led a  place  among  the  flowers,  his  usual  way  of 
winding  up  the  day.  He  lay  down  in  it  with  his 
chin  on  his  paws.  But  soon  he  got  up  and  went 
at  it  again.  He  milled  round  and  round,  with 
several  pauses  as  if  he  were  not  quite  satisfied ; 
then  he  dropped  down  with  a  decisiveness  that 
settled  the  matter  for  good.  With  his  chin  on  the 
brink  of  the  wallow  he  went  to  sleep  ;  or  rather 
he  went  as  near  asleep  as  a  dog  with  such  great 
responsibilities  allows  himself  to  do. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE  sheep,  having  several  times  broken  the 
silence  of  the  dawn,  were  growing  impatient  to  be 
let  out.  Now  that  the  sun  had  appeared  and  the 
bars  were  not  let  down,  there  was  unanimous  ex- 
pression of  opinion  in  the  corral,  an  old  wether 
stamping  his  foot  sternly  and  leading  the  chorus 
with  a  doleful  note.  It  was  very  much  as  if  he 
had  put  the  question  and  they  had  all  voted 
"  aye."  What  was  the  matter  with  the  man  who 
was  running  this  part  of  the  world? 

Steve  Brown  was  otherwise  engaged.  He  was 
sitting  on  the  ground  behind  the  storm-shed 
with  a  lamb  in  his  lap.  He  was  trying  to  remove 
from  its  back  the  pelt  of  another  lamb  which  had 
been  neatly  fitted  on  over  its  own.  This  was  a 
trick  on  the  mother  of  the  dead  lamb  intended 
to  get  her  to  care  for  the  present  lamb,  who  was 
an  orphan ;  which  is  to  say,  the  extra  pelt  was 
the  lamb's  meal-ticket,  and  she  had  given  him 
several  meals  on  the  evidence  of  smell.  The  de- 
ception had  worked  all  the  more  readily  because 

H7 


The  Wrong  Woman 

she  had  not  had  time  to  become  familiar  with 
her  own  lamb's  voice ;  and  now  that  a  sort  of 
vocal  relationship  had  been  'established  between 
the  two,  things  promised  to  go  along  naturally, 
with  probably  a  little  insistence  upon  the  lamb's 
part. 

In  accordance  with  the  usual  practice  in  such 
cases,  the  pelt,  with  head  and  legs  removed,  had 
been  fastened  on  by  means  of  holes  cut  at  the 
corners,  through  which  the  live  one's  legs  were 
inserted,  care  being  taken  to  leave  on  the  tail, 
which  part,  when  a  lamb  is  nursing,  is  most 
convenient  to  smell. 

As  Steve  Brown  was  not  used  to  this  sort  of 
tailoring,  he  had  made  rather  too  close  a  fit  of  it, 
and  now  that  it  was  dried  up  at  the  edges  and 
slightly  shrunk,  he  found  difficulty  in  removing 
it.  Seeing,  upon  further  effort,  that  he  could  not 
get  it  off  without  risk  of  straining  the  lamb's 
anatomy,  he  laid  the  problem  across  his  knees 
again  and  searched  his  pockets  for  his  knife.  He 
had  felt  for  it,  not  very  thoroughly,  before.  The 
knife  seemed  to  be  lost. 

Janet,  awakened  by  the  clamor  in  the  pen, 
arose  from  the  bunk  and  set  to  work  arranging 

148 


The  Wrong  Woman 

her  hair.  Rather  drowsily  she  moved  about 
through  the  rifts  of  sunshine  which  beamed  from 
the  cracks ;  then,  as  she  realized  what  a  golden 
day  the  sun  was  weaving,  she  put  her  eye  to  a 
crack  and  looked  out.  In  her  elongated  picture 
of  things  there  were  several  miles  of  prairie,  the 
sun  just  edge-to-edge  with  the  horizon,  and  any 
amount  of  blue  sky  above.  In  the  sky  were  some 
birds  soaring  at  a  great  height.  Smaller  birds 
went  skimming  over  the  prairie,  —  now  a  golden 
meadowlark,  then  a  darker  scissortail  snipping 
the  air  off  behind  it  in  swift  flight.  Suddenly, 
and  rather  precipitately,  there  came  from  around 
the  corner  of  the  storm-shed  a  lamb  in  full 
action.  Its  gait  was  as  effective  as  it  was  erratic; 
it  looked  very  much  as  if  the  legs  were  running 
away  with  it. 

From  the  corner  of  the  shed  it  made  a  joy- 
ous gambol  in  the  direction  of  the  fire  and  the 
steaming  kettle,  from  which  point  it  made  for 
the  down-slope  of  the  knoll.  Steve  Brown,  whose 
legs  were  none  too  long  for  the  race,  came  run- 
ning after.  A  moment  later  the  dog  arrived  on 
the  scene  ;  he  made  a  sudden  dash  and  per- 
formed his  part  in  a  most  creditable  manner, 

149 


The  Wrong  Woman 

overtaking  the  lamb  and  upsetting  it  with  a  poke 
of  his  nose.  The  lamb,  not  at  all  disconcerted  by 
the  tumble,  which  was  only  a  variation  of  its 
method  of  progress,  came  over  on  its  knees  and 
rose  at  once  to  go  ahead ;  but  the  delay  had  been 
sufficient.  Steve  caught  up  ;  and  the  next  instant, 
the  truant,  feeling  the  ground  removed  from 
under  it,  hung  helpless  across  the  hand  of  its 
captor. 

"  Je-e-emima ! "  Steve  remarked.  "  You  're  feel- 
ing awful  glad  this  morning." 

Janet,  who  could  not  see  the  end  of  this  per- 
formance, but  only  that  part  of  it  which  came 
within  range  of  the  crack,  stepped  back  in  sur- 
prise. As  who  would  not  be  surprised  to  see  a 
black  lamb  with  a  white  head  and  white  legs,  and 
two  tails.  Such  being  the  result  of  her  prying 
upon  the  world,  she  turned  her  attention  to  her 
toilet  again  and  made  haste  to  go  out  and  see 
whether  her  eyes  had  deceived  her. 

In  the  mean  time  Steve,  not  being  able  to  find 
the  knife,  stood  with  the  lamb  in  his  arms  and 
bent  the  whole  force  of  his  mind  upon  the  pro- 
blem of  its  whereabouts.  Suddenly  he  remembered 
that  he  had  last  used  it  in  front  of  the  shack  to 

150 


The  Wrong  Woman 

put  the  pelt  on  the  lamb.  Naturally,  it  was  still 
there.  Having  it  again,  he  sat  down  near  the 
fire-hole,  where  he  could  keep  an  eye  on  the  ket- 
tle, placed  the  lamb  on  his  lap  and  opened  the 
blade.  He  had  just  got  to  work  on  one  of  the 
legs  when  the  door  opened  and  his  guest  made 
her  appearance.  He  rose  at  once  to  pay  his  re- 
spects, the  lamb  in  one  hand  and  his  hat  in  .the 
other. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Janet." 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Brown.  It  is  a  very 
beautiful  day,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  First-class,"  he  replied.  "  I  'm  just  doing  a 
little  work  on  this  lamb.  I  guess  you  know  him; 
he  's  the  one  you  saw  when  you  first  came." 

"  What !  The  one  that  stepped  in  the  sugar 
bowl  ? " 

"Yes,  that's  him.  He  doesn't  look  exactly 
natural,  does  he?  I  had  to  make  some  changes 
in  him.  You  see  his  mother  did  n't  think  she 
wanted  any  lamb.  But  another  sheep  had  one 
that  died  and  I  could  see  she  wanted  a  lamb,  so 
that  was  an  opening  for  this  fellow.  And  I  had 
to  fix  him  up  so  that  she  'd  take  him." 

"  What  a  funny  thing  to  do,"  said  Janet. 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  Is  n't  it!  Do  you  wonder  that  sheep-herders 
go  crazy  ?  Just  wait  a  minute,  Miss  Janet,  and 
I  '11  have  this  off  of  him." 

He  sat  down  again  with  the  lamb  in  his  lap. 
Turning  it  over  on  its  back  he  set  to  work  on  the 
hind  legs.  Janet,  becoming  interested,  stooped 
down  beside  him.  She  patted  the  infant  on  its 
high  forehead. 

"  And  did  n't  the  other  sheep  want  to  adopt 
him? "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  no.  Sheep  don't  believe  in  charity." 

"And  won't  even  have  their  own  sometimes ! 
Is  n't  that  strange  !  " 

"  Some  of  them  seem  to  be  built  that  way, 
especially  if  it  is  their  first  one.  But  that  sheep 
did  n't  have  much  milk  anyway,  and  maybe  she 
thought  he  might  as  well  die.  If  it  hadn't  been 
for  that  I  would  have  tried  to  make  her  take  him. 
But  I  saw  the  other  sheep  could  do  better  by  him." 

"  There  is  really  a  great  deal  to  think  of,  is  n't 
there?"  said  Janet,  lending  a  hand  to  the  opera- 
tion by  catching  hold  of  a  too  active  hind  leg. 
"  But  I  don't  see  how  you  could  fool  her  that 
way.  Could  n't  she  see  that  this  lamb  had  a  white 
head  ?  And  white  legs  ?  And  an  extra  tail  ?  " 

152 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  Oh,  they  don't  go  by  looks,"  he  explained. 
"  They  go  by  smell.  And  later  on  by  voice,  too. 
Appearances  don't  count." 

"  The  idea !  You  seem  to  know  all  about 
them." 

"  Not  much,"  he  said.  "  I  'm  no  sheep-man." 

"  But  anyway,  you  do  get  along  with  them." 

"  If  they  were  my  sheep,"  he  answered,  "  and 
I  was  n't  responsible  for  them,  I  would  n't  be  so 
particular.  Especially  with  this  one ;  he  has  been 
a  lot  of  trouble.  As  far  as  money  goes  —  he  is  n't 
worth  overfifty  cents —  I  would  have  let  him  die." 

"  Oh,  no-o-o-o  !  "  protested  Janet,  lending 
further  assistance  with  the  pelt. 

"  But  after  I  had  carried  him  around  with  me 
all  day  I  got  to  feeling  responsible  for  him." 

"  A  person  naturally  would,"  said  Janet. 

"And  besides,"  he  added,  holding  the  lamb 
upright  while  she,  with  her  more  skillful  fingers, 
removed  the  fore  legs  from  the  armholes  of  the 
pelt,  "a  fellow  sort  of  hates  to  lose  the  first  one, 
you  know." 

Janet,  finding  the  lambskin  left  on  her  hands, 
examined  it  curiously,  running  her  fingers  over 
the  soft  black  wool. 

153 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"What  shall  I  do  with  this,  Mr.  Brown?" 

"Oh,  just  throw  it  away.  But  no,"  he  added, 
upon  second  thought,  "I  guess  you  had  better 
keep  that.  It  would  be  good  for  you  to  sit  on." 

Following  this  suggestion  she  took  it  to  her 
"place"  on  the  prairie  and  spread  it  down.  Then, 
as  he  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  her,  she  re- 
turned. 

"Miss  Janet,  I  guess  you'll  want  to  wash  up. 
The  best  I  can  offer  you  is  the  place  down  be- 
low the  spring.  You  '11  find  some  soap  down 
there  in  a  cigar-box.  The  bank  is  a  little  steep 
for  you  to  climb  down,  so  I  guess  you  had  bet- 
ter go  round  and  get  in  the  front  way.  On  your 
way  around  you  '11  find  a  towel  on  a  bush ;  it  is 
pretty  clean,  —  I  washed  it  last  night.  And  you  'd 
better  take  the  lambskin  along  to  kneel  on." 

Steve  carried  the  lamb  away  to  its  breakfast. 
Janet  took  the  pelt  and  followed  his  instructions, 
going  down  the  slope  and  skirting  round  the  base 
of  the  knoll  till  she  came  to  where  the  stream 
issued  forth. 

The  little  gully  was  hardly  more  than  a  deep 
grass-grown  ditch  made  by  the  spring  as  it  won 
its  way  out  of  the  heart  of  the  knoll ;  or  rather  it 

'54 


The  Wrong  Woman 

was  a  green  hallway,  overtopped  with  a  frieze  of 
mesquite,  leading  in  privately  to  the  source  of 
the  stream.  Janet,  as  she  entered  the  house-like 
cosiness  of  this  diminutive  valley,  felt  very  much 
as  if  she  had  just  stepped  in  out  of  the  universe. 
On  a  prairie  there  is  such  an  insistent  stare  of 
space,  so  great  a  lack  of  stopping-place  for  the 
mind,  that  this  little  piece  of  outdoors,  with  the 
sun  shining  in  at  its  eastern  end,  was  a  veritable 
snug-harbor  in  an  ocean  of  land.  As  she  turned 
and  looked  out  of  its  sunny  portal,  she  told  her- 
self that  if  she  had  to  live  in  the  shack  this  place 
would  be  her  front  yard. 

Just  below  the  spring  was  a  grassy  bank  against 
which  the  water  ran  invitingly;  she  spread  the 
lambskin  here,  rolled  up  her  sleeves,  took  off  her 
collar,  and  conformed  to  the  customs  of  the  place. 
The  cool  water  was  so  invigorating,  and  there 
was  something  so  intimate  in  the  live  push  of  the 
current  against  her  hand,  that  she  lathered  her 
arms  an  unnecessary  number  of  times  and  kept 
rinsing  them  off.  It  was  a  brisk  little  stream  and 
so  bent  upon  its  business  that  she  could  almost 
feel  its  impatience  when  she  obstructed  it,  —  for 
which  reason,  probably,  she  interfered  with  it  the 

155 


The  Wrong  Woman 

more ;  and  finally,  being  done,  she  made  a  little 
heap  of  foam  in  her  palm  and  reached  it  down 
just  to  see  the  water  run  away  with  it. 

As  she  came  round  to  the  sheep-path  again, 
she  met  Steve,  who  had  been  standing  on  the 
side  of  the  knoll  and  started  down  the  moment  he 
saw  her.  Evidently  he  had  been  waiting  his  turn. 

"Breakfast  is  all  ready,"  he  announced  as  he 
passed.  "  I  '11  be  up  in  a  minute." 

By  the  time  she  reached  the  shack  there  was  a 
great  spluttering  and  splashing  and  blowing  of 
water  down  below.  It  was  Mr.  Brown  "washing 
up."  In  little  more  than  the  minute  he  was  back 
again.  Finding  her  seated  upon  the  lambskin, 
he  took  his  place  opposite  her  and  passed  the 
hot  bread. 

"  I  saw  you  chasing  that  lamb  this  morning," 
she  said,  quite  directly.  "I  was  looking  out  of 
a  crack  to  find  what  the  weather  was  like." 

"Did  you?  Did  you  see  the  dog  throw  him?" 

"No;  I  couldn't  see  it  all.  But  I  saw  how  he 
had  learned  to  use  his  legs.  Why,  it  does  n't  seem 
possible." 

"Oh,  that's  nothing.  He's  an  old  hand  now 
—  this  is  his  third  day  on  earth." 
iS6 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"Yes;  but  isn't  he  unusually  smart?" 

"  Oh,  no.  They  Ve  got  to  catch  on  pretty  quick, 
you  know,  or  they  could  n't  keep  up  with  the 
procession.  He 's  just  about  like  the  rest  of 
them.  They  all  learn  fast." 

"But  it  hardly  seems  possible  that  such  a  help- 
less little  thing  as  he  was  could  learn  so  much. 
Why,  when  I  first  saw  him  he  was  just  able  to 
stand  up." 

"They're  animals,"  replied  Steve,  spreading 
a  thick  coat  of  molasses  on  a  large  piece  of  hot 
bread.  "It  only  takes  them  a  few  minutes  to 
learn  standing  up  ?" 

"  But  they  do  have  to  learn,  don't  they  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  They  don't  always  get  it  right  the 
first  time.  Lambs  make  mistakes  the  same  as 
anybody  else.  But  if  they  get  started  out  right, 
with  a  good  meal  the  first  thing,  and  a  warm 
sleep,  they  go  ahead  surprisingly.  The  trouble 
with  them  at  first  is  that  they  are  a  little 
weak." 

"I  don't  suppose,  then,  that  a  lamb  can  get 
right  up  and  follow  the  flock?"  she  queried. 

"  Oh,  no.  That  would  be  expecting  too  much. 
They  can  toddle  around  pretty  well  in  a  few 

157 


The  Wrong  Woman 

hours  ;  but  they  could  n't  really  travel  till  they  've 
had  time  to  grow  strong." 

Janet  paused  in  her  questioning.  She  spent  a 
few  moments  reflecting  upon  the  information 
gained  thus  far. 

"  Then  I  can't  understand,  Mr.  Brown,  how 
you  can  herd  those  sheep  and  take  care  of  the 
lambs  too.  You  surely  can't  carry  them  all  ? " 

"  That 's  just  what  the  trouble  is,'*  he  answered. 
"I  guess  that  Harding  must  be  drunk.  If  he 
doesn't  get  back  soon  and  bring  help  it's  likely 
to  get  serious." 

"And  what  will  you  do?" 

"  You  see,  Miss  Janet,"  he  said,  laying  down 
knife  and  fork  for  a  formal  statement  of  the 
difficulty,  "  when  you  're  grazing  a  bunch  of 
sheep  and  one  of  them  drops  a  lamb  she  stays 
right  there  with  it.  That  is,  she  does  if  she  is  one 
of  the  natural  kind.  Pretty  soon  the  flock  has 
gone  on  and  she  is  left  behind.  After  a  while 
another  has  a  lamb  and  she  drops  out  and  is  left 
behind.  And  so  on.  So  there  ought  to  be  some- 
body to  take  them  back  to  the  corral.  But  of 
course  the  lambs  can't  travel.  They  Ve  got  to  be 
carried." 

158 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"How  long  do  you  suppose  that  man  will 
take — at  the  farthest?" 

"  He  ought  to  be  back  now.  He  may  come 
any  time.  If  I  only  knew  he  was  coming  before 
night  I  would  know  how  to  manage.  I  would  go 
right  along  and  leave  the  wet-lambs  and  their 
mothers  stringing  along  behind ;  then  when  he 
came  with  help  he  could  get  them  in  for  the  night. 
They  would  be  all  right  to  stay  out  on  the  prairie 
for  a  while  —  all  except  those  whose  mothers 
did  n't  care  for  them.  But  I  would  do  that ;  and 
those  whose  mothers  did  n't  stick  to  them  would 
have  to  die." 

"  Oh,  that  would  be  such  a  shame ! "  Janet's 
eyes  opened  wide  as  she  contemplated  this  state 
of  affairs.  "  And  how  about  the  ones  who  had 
mothers  ?  Would  it  be  all  right  if  they  had  to 
stay  out  on  the  prairie  till  the  next  day  ?  " 

"  No-o-o-o  —  it  would  hardly  do  to  leave 
lambs  scattered  around  on  the  prairie  all  night 
even  if  their  mothers  were  with  them.  Coyotes 
would  get  them." 

"  Oh,  dear !  Don't  you  think,  Mr.  Brown, 
that  that  man  is  quite  certain  to  get  back  some- 
time to-day  ?  " 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"I  don't  see  how  he  can  stay  away  much  longer. 
He  knows  mighty  well  he  has  my  horse,  too. 
He  might  come  along  any  time." 

For  a  while  they  ate  in  silence. 

"  Miss  Janet,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  I  don't 
think  you  had  better  start  out  alone  again.  When 
he  gets  back  with  my  horse  and  I  am  free  of  this 
place,  I  can  show  you  the  road  and  see  that  you 
arc  all  right.  I  would  feel  more  satisfied  that 
way." 

"Well,  then,  couldn't  I  be  of  some  assistance 
—  if  I  stay?" 

"  Oh,  that  is  n't  necessary.  I  '11  get  along  some- 
how. I  don't  suppose,  though,  that  you  'd  care 
to  sit  here  alone  at  the  shack ;  so  maybe  you  'd 
better  come  along  with  me.  And  if  you  want  to 
drop  behind  once  in  a  while  and  help  a  lamb  out, 
why,  of  course  you  can.  You  seem  to  be  pretty 
handy  with  them." 

This  plan  was  adopted.  When  breakfast  was 
over  he  let  down  the  bars;  the  sheep  poured 
forth;  Shep  sprang  to  life  and  barked  orders 
right  and  left.  The  crowding  multitude  spread 
out  on  the  prairie  in  grazing  order,  and  when 
Shep  had  executed  certain  commands  necessary  to 

1 60 


THKRK   S  NUMBER  ONE,"  STEVE   REMARKED  CASUALLY 


The  Wrong  Woman 

get  them  headed  in  the  right  direction,  the  trio  of 
caretakers  began  their  slow  progress  through  the 
day.  Shep,  subject  to  orders,  followed  at  Steve's 
heels;  Janet  walked  at  his  right  hand;  thus  they 
wandered  along  in  the  desultory  manner  of  the 
sheep-herder,  standing  a  while,  sitting  down  a 
while,  advancing  now  and  then  as  the  flock  grazed 
farther  away. 

"There's  number  one,"  Steve  remarked  casu- 
ally. 

They  had  ascended,  almost  imperceptibly,  one 
of  those  slow  rises  or  folds  in  the  prairie  from 
which  more  distant  objects,  if  there  are  any,  come 
into  view.  Janet  had  just  been  taking  her  bear- 
ings; ahead  of  them  there  had  now  come  to  sight 
the  long  file  of  trees  which  marked  the  course  of 
Comanche  Creek ;  looking  back  she  could  still 
see  the  shack,  quite  plainly,  on  its  knoll.  As  he 
spoke,  and  pointed,  her  eyes  followed  the  new 
direction,  off  to  the  left.  A  sheep  had  fallen  out 
of  the  flock;  she  was  now  standing  some  distance 
behind.  From  the  way  she  nosed  in  the  grass 
without  advancing,  it  was  evident  what  had  taken 
place. 

"  Well,  good-bye,"  said  Janet.  Then,  feeling 
161 


The  Wrong  Woman 

suddenly  that  these  words  had  too  serious  a 
sound,  she  added,  "  But  I  suppose  I  will  catch  up 
with  you  before  long." 

"  Shall  I  go  over  with  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  answered,  and  hurried  away. 

"Don't  forget  what  I  said  about  the  creek," 
he  called  out  after  her. 

As  she  looked  back  he  pointed  first  at  the 
shack  and  then  at  the  creek,  bringing  his  arm 
around  in  a  semicircle  as  if  it  were  a  sort  of  dial- 
hand  to  the  prairie.  "Don't  get  lost,"  he  added. 

When  she  nodded  to  show  that  she  understood, 
he  strode  on  after  the  sheep.  They  had  been  gain- 
ing ground  steadily  and  had  got  far  ahead. 

Janet,  reaching  the  scene  of  the  nativity,  be- 
came very  much  interested.  The  lamb  was  just 
beginning  to  look  up  and  take  notice  ;  she  stooped 
over  him  in  rapt  contemplation.  His  little  merino 
back  was  wrinkled  as  fine  as  a  frown.  His  little 
hoofs  were  already  beginning  to  feel  the  ground 
under  them ;  he  was  going  to  rise !  Then  ensued 
a  lamb's  usual  drunken  contest  with  the  laws  of 
gravity.  While  he  stepped  on  air  and  tried  to  get 
the  hang  of  things,  Janet  followed  his  fortunes 
with  bated  breath.  When  he  had  got  his  four  legs 

162 


The  Wrong  Woman 

firmly  planted,  the  first  thing  he  did  was  to  shake 
himself;  and  he  did  it  with  such  vigor  that  he 
upset  himself.  This  was  a  surprise  to  Janet  if  not 
to  the  lamb;  he  had  shaken  himself  off  his  feet; 
everything  had  to  be  done  over  again.  He 
seemed  a  little  stultified  by  this  turn  of  affairs ;  but 
though  he  was  down  the  fall  had  not  knocked  any 
of  the  ambition  out  of  him  ;  he  immediately  went 
at  it  again.  This  time  he  conquered  and  stood 
right  up  to  the  bar  of  life,  much  to  Janet's  relief. 
Having  filled  himself  and  spent  a  moment 
looking  at  nothing  in  particular,  he  decided  that 
the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  veer  around  and  have 
some  more ;  in  taking  this  step,  however,  there 
was  some  sort  of  error  in  the  proceedings  and  he 
went  down  forward  on  his  knees.  A  moment 
later  the  hind  legs  stumbled  and  fell,  and  he  was 
all  down ;  now  he  decided  to  take  a  rest.  As  the 
mother  nosed  him  over  and  showed  every  sign 
of  affection,  Janet  began  to  see  that  her  services 
were  not  needed ;  her  presence  was  of  no  conse- 
quence whatever.  There  was  nothing  for  her  to  do 
but  to  stroke  his  back  and  pat  him  on  the  head  ; 
having  done  which  she  rose  and  again  went  for- 
ward upon  her  charitable  mission. 

163 


The  Wrong  Woman 

The  flock  by  this  time  had  eaten  its  way  into 
the  distance.  It  was  not  so  far  away,  however, 
but  that  she  could  soon  have  overtaken  it.  She 
walked  along  at  a  moderate  pace,  looking  alter- 
nately to  right  and  left  for  such  as  might  fall 
under  her  care. 

She  had  not  gone  far  when  she  sighted  another. 
As  this  one  had  dropped  out  of  the  right  wing 
of  the  army  ahead,  he  was  off  to  one  side  of  her 
present  course.  By  the  time  she  arrived  he  had 
already  succeeded  in  standing  up ;  he  even  took 
a  distinct  step ;  then  he  shook  himself  like  a  dog 
just  out  of  water.  Like  the  other  lamb,  he  shook 
himself  down  ;  he  hit  the  ground  with  rather  more 
decisive  a  drop.  When  he  had  again  mastered  the 
difficulties,  and  achieved  his  reward,  Janet  sat 
down  near  by  and  waited  to  see  whether  the  two 
would  become  acquainted.  This  again  proved  to 
be  a  happy  union. 

Janet  felt  a  little  disappointed.  She  had  expect- 
ed to  be  of  some  use.  Now  that  she  had  proved 
to  be  a  mere  looker-on  she  began  to  take  thought 
about  the  lamb's  future.  There  came  to  her 
again  those  words  —  "The  coyotes  would  get 
them."  She  rose  at  once.  A  man  would  carry 

164 


The  Wrong  Woman 

them  back  to  the  corral ;  why  not  she  ?  She  took 
the  lamb  in  her  arms  intending  to  go  off  a  dis- 
tance and  see  whether  the  mother  would  follow. 
The  experiment  proved  unnecessary,  however ; 
the  ewe  not  only  followed  but  kept  close  at  her 
side.  Accompanied  thus  by  the  mother  she  went 
back  to  the  first  halting-place  where  the  other 
ewe  joined  them;  thence  she  set  a  course  straight 
for  the  shack,  a  lamb  on  each  arm  and  a  sheep 
at  each  side  of  her.  Things  went  much  easier 
than  she  had  expected. 

In  this  turn  of  affairs,  she  felt  quite  satisfied. 
Although  it  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  touched 
a  lamb  or  had  any  experience  with  a  sheep,  the 
work  seemed  perfectly  natural.  Indeed,  as  she 
marched  along  between  the  two  watchful  ewes, 
and  hugged  to  her  breast  the  warm  objects  of 
their  attention,  it  seemed  to  her  —  a  very  puz- 
zling delusion — that  she  had  done  this  same 
thing  before;  it  was  like  a  half-faded  memory. 
Nor  did  it  seem  natural  to  think  of  Mr.  Brown 
as  a  stranger  ;  it  seemed  that  she  had  known  him 
a  long  time  ago  —  always.  Possibly  this  was  be- 
cause she  felt  so  much  at  home  in  this  sort  of 
work.  Then,  too,  we  dream  dreams,  and  they 


The  Wrong  Woman 

have  a  way  of  bringing  themselves  to  pass  in 
some  shape  or  other. 

Having  reached  the  corral  she  managed  to  let 
down  the  bars  without  getting  the  infants  mixed 
up — a  matter  which  had  given  her  much  concern ; 
and  now  that  she  had  them  safely  inside  she 
thought  it  advisable  to  wait  a  while  and  make 
sure  that  family  relations  were  going  to  be  per- 
manent, after  her  interference.  She  rested  herself 
by  sitting  on  the  top  rail  of  the  corral ;  meantime 
she  took  an  interested  survey  of  the  stuffed  clothes 
of  Mr.  Pete  Harding  under  whose  manly  pre- 
sentment the  lambs  enjoyed  protection.  Mr. 
Brown  had  made  a  very  good  imitation  of  a 
man  by  filling  the  herder's  working-clothes  with 
marsh  grass ;  the  figure  had  been  made  to  stand 
up  by  means  of  a  pole  thrust  through  the  fence, 
to  the  end  of  which  Mr.  Harding  was  suspended 
by  the  neck  as  if  he  had  been  hung  in  effigy. 
The  man  himself  had  not  yet  put  in  his  appear- 
ance. Janet,  as  she  thought  of  him,  scanned  the 
horizon  for  signs  of  his  approach.  There  was  no 
indication  of  his  coming.  But  still  the  day  was 
not  half  over ;  possibly,  she  told  herself,  he 
would  arrive  early  in  the  afternoon.  Having 

166 


The  Wrong  Woman 

become  satisfied  that  all  was  well,  so  far  as  the 
lambs  were  concerned,  she  put  up  the  top  bar 
and  went  forth  again  to  her  work. 

By  looking  back  occasionally  and  sighting 
her  route  by  means  of  the  shack  and  the  storm- 
shed,  the  relative  positions  of  which  she  had 
been  careful  to  observe  when  she  first  went  out, 
she  held  her  course  so  well  that  when  she  next 
came  in  sight  of  the  line  of  trees  she  was  at  the 
same  point  as  before.  Here  she  set  straight  out 
for  the  bend  in  the  creek,  which  landmark  was 
to  guide  her  on  the  next  stage  of  her  quest.  As  % 
before,  she  kept  a  sharp  lookout  for  stranded 
sheep. 

She  had  not  gone  a  great  distance  when  another 
case  presented  itself.  This  time  it  was  twins. 
The  pair  were  sleeping.  The  mother,  having 
licked  them  nicely  into  shape,  had  lain  down 
beside  them  ;  when  Janet  arrived  she  got  up 
suddenly  and  stared  at  her  in  alarm.  The  twins 
had  evidently  been  successful,  so  far,  in  all  their 
undertakings,  not  the  least  of  which  is  to  take  a 
rest.  They  were  in  very  good  condition  to  be 
carried.  She  took  them  up  and  arranged  them 
comfortably,  one  on  each  arm,  and  soon  they 


The  Wrong  Woman 

were  on  their  way  to  safety,  the  anxious  mother 
trotting  first  to  one  side  of  Janet  and  then  to  the 
other.  These  also  were  added  to  the  ones  in  the 
corral. 

Janet  did  not  feel  so  tired  but  that  she  could 
have  turned  about  at  once  ;  she  would  have  done 
so  had  it  not  been  that  it  was  dinner-time  and 
she  was  hungry.  Mr.  Brown  had  taken  along 
with  him  an  extra  large  lunch  which  he  expected 
her  to  share  with  him  somewhere  along  the 
shaded  banks  of  the  Comanche  ;  the  little  plan 
passed  momentarily  through  her  mind  as  she 
raised  the  lid  of  the  box  and  took  out  a  pan  of 
beans.  There  was  also  a  piece  of  bread  left ;  it 
tasted  better  than  she  would  have  expected  cold 
hot-bread  to  do. 

Luckily  for  the  work  she  had  taken  upon  her- 
self, Steve  Brown  had  planned  a  route  for  the  day 
which  any  one  could  easily  follow.  He  was  going 
to  graze  the  sheep  along  Comanche  Creek,  down- 
stream, on  the  right-hand  side ;  he  would  bring 
them  back  not  very  wide  of  the  same  course. 
This  arrangement  he  had  made  entirely  with  a 
view  to  being  quickly  found  in  case  help  arrived ; 
he  had  left  a  note  behind  giving  instructions.  As 

168 


The  Wrong  Woman 

this  was  all  very  plain  sailing,  Janet  saw  that  she 
would  be  quite  free  to  come  and  go,  and  she  had 
been  quick  to  turn  this  arrangement  to  the  lambs' 
advantage.  When  she  had  satisfied  the  worst  of 
her  hunger  she  started  out  again.  The  conscious- 
ness that  she  could  find  him  whenever  she  wished, 
and  was,  virtually,  in  touch  with  him  all  the  time, 
made  her  task  entirely  enjoyable. 

This  time  she  reached  the  creek  and  gave  her- 
self over  to  its  guidance.  Comanche  Creek,  like 
other  prairie  streams,  had  its  line  of  trees  which 
very  plainly  belonged  to  it  and  not  to  the  prairie. 
This  impression  of  foreignness  to  the  region  was 
emphasized  by  their  extending  in  unbroken  pro- 
cession from  horizon  to  horizon,  as  if  they  were 
merely  crossing  the  plains.  While  the  stream 
hurried  on  to  its  congregation  of  waters,  the  trees 
seemed  bound  for  some  distant  forest.  Quite 
strictly  they  kept  to  the  course;  none  of  them, 
beech,  hickory,  live-oak,  nor  pecan,  encroached 
beyond  the  right  of  way  nor  seemed  ever  to  have 
been  forgetful  that  these  were  the  Plains.  It  was 
very  much  as  if  they  recognized  that  trees  ought 
not  to  grow  here.  As,  indeed,  they  ought  not. 
The  prairie  is  itself  as  much  as  is  the  ocean  or 

169 


The  Wrong  Woman 

forest,  and  it  has  no  room  to  spare.  Space,  like 
wood  and  water,  must  have  its  own  exclusive 
regions  wherein  to  exercise  its  larger  and  deeper 
spell.  These  were  the  earthly  fastnesses  of  space; 
and  so  preempted.  Many  grapevines  looped 
along  the  route,  some  of  them  of  ancient  growth, 
hanging  like  big  ropes  from  tree  to  tree;  these 
had  the  appearance  of  keeping  a  still  closer  re- 
gard to  the  direction  of  the  stream  itself,  their 
more  sinuous  wood  flowing  along  in  a  like  spirit 
and  keeping  the  waters  company.  Nowhere  so 
artfully,  perhaps,  as  in  a  prairie  stream,  are  eye 
and  ear  addressed  by  the  manifold  activities  of 
wood  and  water.  To  come  across  it  in  the  course 
of  a  long  monotonous  journey  is  as  sudden  as 
falling  in  love  —  and  very  much  like  it. 

Comanche  Creek,  having  such  advantages  of 
contrast  and  sharp  comparison,  was  well  calcu- 
lated to  strike  the  mind  with  the  whole  charm 
of  stream  and  forest;  and  so  it  worked  upon 
Janet.  To  her  right  was  the  prairie  as  monotonous 
as  duty  ;  to  her  left  the  creek  with  its  mirrored 
vistas,  its  rippling  bends,  its  comfortable  resting- 
places  where  sun  and  shade  played  together. 
Inviting  as  it  all  was,  however,  she  kept  well  out 
170  • 


The  Wrong  Woman 

on  the  open  where  her  business  lay;  only  occa- 
sionally did  she  let  her  gaze  wander  from  its  set 
task  to  loiter  in  this  more  restful  scene.  She  kept 
on  looking  for  lambs.  But  after  awhile  she  awoke 
to  the  fact  that  she  had  been  walking  closer  and 
closer  when  she  ought  to  be  keeping  out  on  the 
prairie;  instead  of  using  it  as  a  guide  in  her  work 
she  was  making  a  companion  of  it.  She  turned  at 
once  and  marched  out  to  the  scene  of  duty. 

As  she  got  out  nearer  to  the  centre  of  her  field 
of  operations,  —  twelve  hundred  sheep  cut  a 
pretty  wide  swath,  —  she  thought  she  heard  the 
cry  of  a  lamb.  She  stopped  and  listened.  All  was 
silence.  It  might  have  been  imagination,  assisted, 
possibly,  by  some  rumor  of  the  distant  flock ;  but 
yet  the  still  small  voice  had  seemed  to  come  from 
somewhere  near  at  hand.  She  went  forward,  list- 
ening intently.  Presently  she  heard  it  again ; 
then  she  saw  him.  He  was  so  close  that  she  could 
see  his  little  red  tongue  as  he  opened  his  mouth 
and  called  to  her. 

Poor  little  lamb  !  There  was  not  a  sheep  in 
sight.  There  was  just  him  and  the  prairie.  He 
was  barely  managing  to  stand  up;  she  could 
easily  see  that  he  was  on  his  last  legs  as  well  as 


The  Wrong  Woman 

his  first  ones.  As  she  went  to  him  he  took  a  step 
or  two  as  if  to  meet  her,  but  his  legs  lacked  stiff- 
ening and  he  fell  on  his  nose.  She  ran  and  picked 
him  up.  As  she  took  him  in  her  arms  he  opened 
his  mouth  again  and  called  upon  his  mother. 

Which  way  to  take  him  in  search  of  milk  be- 
came now  a  pressing  problem.  She  thought  she 
felt  him  shiver.  If  he  was  to  be  saved,  it  would 
not  do  for  him  to  starve  much  longer;  nature 
demands  that  if  a  lamb  is  to  live  he  must  have 
his  first  meal  without  delay.  She  paused  to  de- 
cide the  matter,  holding  his  passive  little  hoofs  in 
her  hand.  To  keep  right  on  after  the  flock  might 
prove  the  quickest  way ;  but  again  it  might  not ; 
it  would  be  taking  a  chance.  Back  at  the  corral, 
far  though  it  was,  the  services  of  a  mother  were 
certain.  The  surest  way  seemed  the  best  to  her, 
and  having  decided  so,  she  turned  about  at  once, 
walking  rapidly. 

The  return  trip  seemed  very  long,  and  the 
forced  pace  told  upon  her  strength.  She  kept  it 
up,  however,  till  the  goal  had  been  reached. 
Having  her  orphan  inside  the  bars  she  deposited 
him  in  a  corner  while  she  turned  her  attention  to 
the  row  of  little  stalls  or  prison-pens  which  were 

172 


The  Wrong  Woman 

built  along  the  outside  of  the  fence.  This  insti- 
tution she  had  observed  with  great  interest. 
Each  pen  was  just  large  enough  to  crowd  a  ewe 
in,  being  calculated  to  allow  her  no  liberty  in  any 
way;  they  were  all  built  so  that  sheep  could  be 
put  into  them  from  the  inside  of  the  corral.  She 
opened  one  of  them,  seized  upon  the  first  lamb 
at  hand  and  put  it  in,  and  when  the  fond  mother 
put  her  nose  in  after  it  Janet  gave  her  a  good 
push  from  behind  and  sent  her  in  also ;  then  she 
abstracted  the  rightful  lamb  and  put  the  other 
in  its  place.  Having  closed  the  opening  she 
climbed  over  the  fence  and  sat  down  on  the 
prairie  beside  the  pen  where  she  could  look  in 
between  the  rails  and  watch  developments. 

The  lamb,  probably  because  it  had  gone  too 
long  without  that  first  drink  which  is  the  making 
of  a  lamb,  did  not  seem  able  to  rise.  Janet  put  her 
hand  in  between  the  rails  and  gave  it  a  lift.  Once 
it  had  its  legs  under  it,  it  managed  for  itself.  To 
Janet's  great  satisfaction  it  filled  up  visibly.  When 
it  was  done,  she  let  out  the  ewe,  who  hastened 
to  find  her  own  again,  knocking  down  the  orphan 
in  the  process  of  getting  out.  As  he  made  no 
effort  to  rise,  Janet  again  took  him  in  her  arms. 


The  Wrong  Woman 

The  lamb  seemed  dispirited  and  chilled.  This 
is  a  condition  which  is  quite  likely  to  overtake 
a  "wet-lamb"  if  it  is  neglected  from  the  outset, 
in  which  case  its  little  stock  of  vitality  is  not 
easily  regained.  Despite  the  brightness  of  the 
weather  there  was  a  touch  of  chill  in  the  air. 
Janet  sat  down  in  the  doorway  of  the  shack  and 
held  the  lamb  in  her  lap,  doubling  her  skirt  up 
over  it  in  order  to  get  it  warm.  Like  any  other 
lamb  it  submitted  to  whatever  was  done  to  it. 
Now  it  lay  so  quietly  in  her  lap,  and  looked  so 
innocent  and  helpless,  that  she  felt  permanently 
responsible  for  it.  Especially  as  she  did  not 
know  what  else  to  do  with  it.  Presently  she  felt 
it  growing  warmer  and  warmer ;  then  it  went  to 
sleep. 

Janet  was  tired.  She  sat  there  watching  the  prai- 
rie. In  the  sky  the  same  dark  birds  were  soar- 
ing. The  suspended  effigy  of  Mr.  Pete  Hard- 
ing, swayed  by  the  slightest  breeze,  moved  its 
loose-hung  arms  and  legs  as  if  it  were  being  vis- 
ited by  the  drunken  spirit  of  its  owner.  At  in- 
tervals the  solitude  found  expression  in  a  sheep's 
automatic  baa.  The  birds,  which  were  buzzards, 
wheeled  round  and  round  as  the  time  passed  and 

174 


The  Wrong  Woman 

brought  them  nothing.  One  of  them,  tired  of 
wheeling  round  and  round,  sat  on  one  of  the 
posts  of  the  corral  and  waited  for  something  to 
happen.  These  were  the  dusky  angels  that  car- 
ried away  the  lamb's  body  of  the  day  before ; 
she  had  seen  its  little  white  bones  down  at  the 
foot  of  the  knoll.  The  present  watcher,  a  stoop- 
shouldered,  big,  rusty-black  bird,  was  quite  in- 
different to  human  presence;  he  sat  on  his  post 
like  a  usurer  on  his  high  stool,  calculating  and 
immovable.  Janet  knew  what  was  in  his  mind. 
She  drew  the  lamb  a  little  closer  and  tucked  her 
skirt  in  around  it.  Again  she  fell  to  contemplat- 
ing the  prairie  —  and  the  sky.  The  birds  above 
seemed  connected  with  the  machinery  of  Time. 
At  unexpected  moments  a  sheep  gave  voice  to 
it  all  "in  syllable  of  dolour." 

No,  she  would  not  really  want  to  be  a  sheep- 
herder;  at  least  not  alone.  Last  night,  or  when- 
ever Steve  Brown  was  about,  everything  looked 
quite  different.  Even  now,  she  reflected,  it  was 
not  so  bad  as  it  might  be,  and  she  did  not  really 
mind  it  much;  it  was  his  place ;  he  was  just  over 
the  horizon  somewhere ;  and  as  long  as  it  was 
his  place  she  did  not  feel  so  lonesome.  He  had 

175 


The  Wrong  Woman 

long  ago  turned  the  flock  about ;  she  could  pict- 
ure him  as  he  followed  them  along,  nearer  and 
nearer.  After  a  while  he  would  be  home. 

She  sat  holding  the  lamb  till  the  sun  began  to 
redden ;  then  it  occurred  to  her  that,  under  the 
circumstances,  it  was  her  duty  to  get  supper.  It 
was  a  welcome  thought ;  she  would  see  what  she 
could  do.  She  put  the  orphan  at  the  foot  of  the 
bunk,  drew  the  quilt  over  it  and  set  to  work. 

It  had  now  become  apparent  that  she  was  de- 
stined to  spend  another  night  at  the  shack;  this, 
however,  gave  her  no  serious  concern.  It  entered 
her  mind  only  in  the  form  of  the  pleasant  reflec- 
tion that  nobody  would  be  worried  by  her  ab- 
sence ;  the  farmer's  family  would  think  she  had 
gone  to  the  county-seat  and  then  reached  her 
destination  at  Merrill ;  the  folks  at  Merrill  would 
think  she  was  still  at  the  school,  all  of  which  was 
very  fortunate;  and  so  she  thought  no  more  about 
it.  She  was  mainly  concerned  with  the  lambs,  and 
particularly,  at  the  present  moment,  with  supper. 
She  spread  down  her  two  white  napkins,  which 
had  not  seen  service  the  night  before,  placing 
them  corner  to  corner  or  diamondwise  on  the 
ground;  then  she  set  the  table  and  examined 

176 


The  Wrong  Woman 

further  into  the  resources  of  the  provision  box. 
While  the  fire  was  getting  itself  under  way,  she 
completed  the  effect  by  arranging  some  flowers 
in  a  cup  and  placing  a  nosegay  upon  the  bosom 
of  nature.  Before  long  there  was  a  good  bed  of 
coals  in  the  fire-hole. 

Supper  was  just  ready  when  the  flock  reached 
the  knoll  and  began  streaming  up  the  slope  into 
the  corral ;  then  followed  Steve  Brown  escorted 
by  three  sheep.  He  carried  four  lambs,  one  on 
each  arm,  and  two  others  whose  heads  protruded 
from  the  breast  of  his  coat. 

"  Four  more  !  "  she  exclaimed,  stepping  for- 
ward to  meet  them.  "  Did  you  get  all  there  were, 
Mr.  Brown  ? " 

'*"  I  got  all  I  saw,  Miss  Janet,"  he  answered, 
casting  a  bright  and  intelligent  look  at  the  fire- 
hole.  "  And  I  was  afraid  I  had  lost  you.  You  got 
supper,  did  n't  you  ?  That  looks  nice." 

Steve  Brown's  conversation  was  largely  illum- 
ined by  the  light  of  his  eye;  likewise  his  silences, 
which  were  many.  They  were  direct  eyes  which 
paid  close  attention  and  shot  their  beams  straight 
as  along  the  barrel  of  a  rifle.  The  live  interest  of 
his  look,  and  the  slight  but  expressive  play  of  his 

177 


The  Wrong  Woman 

features,  made  up  quite  well  for  the  occasional 
scarcity  of  words. 

"Yes,  everything  is  all  ready,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  I  won't  keep  you  waiting  long." 

When  he  had  rid  himself  of  the  lambs  he  strode 
down  the  slope  to  the  spring,  and  presently  she 
heard  him  "  washing  up  "  with  more  than  his 
usual  vigor.  Pretty  soon  he  came  up  and  bore  a 
beaming  countenance  to  supper. 

Janet,  as  she  poured  the  coffee  and  passed  the 
hot  bread,  gave  an  account  of  her  day's  work, 
telling  first  about  the  orphan  and  how  she  man- 
aged with  him  ;  then  she  took  up  the  other  lambs, 
consecutively. 

"  I  got  four  altogether,"  she  ended. 

"  Oh,  you  should  not  have  done  that." 

"No?" 

There  was  mingled  surprise  and  disappoint- 
ment in  her  look ;  but  mainly  disappointment. 

"You  could  never  have  handled  them  that 
way  —  if  they  had  been  really  coming  fast.  It 
would  take  a  wagon.  There  is  no  use  of  your 
working  like  that." 

"  But,"  she  insisted,  after  a  pause, "  you  could  n't 
have  carried  more  than  those  four,  could  you?" 

178 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  No  —  that  was  just  about  a  load." 
"  And  we  got  them  all  in,  did  n't  we  ?  " 
"  Oh,  yes  —  yes.  What  I  meant  was  that  you 
ought  n't  to  work  like  that.  But  we  certainly  did 
get  them  all  in.  And  it's  the  only  way  we  could 
have  done  it.    As  it  turned  out,  it  was  just  the 
right  thing  to  do —  all  that  was  necessary."  After 
a  moment's  silence  he  felt  he  had  not  said  quite 
enough.  "  You  did  first-class,"  he  added.  "  The 
fact  is,  nobody  could  have  done  better." 

Janet  recovered  her  cheerfulness  at  once.  She 
resumed  her  story  of  the  day,  and  then,  as  she 
got  around  to  the  subject  of  the  lamb  again, 
she  went  into  the  shack  and  brought  him  out. 
Having  been  assured  that  he  was  looking  well 
and  was  likely  to  recover,  she  sat  down  at  her 
place  again  with  the  lamb  in  her  lap.  He  lay 
there  contentedly  while  she  finished  her  supper. 
"  Yes,"  said  Steve  in  answer  to  another  of  her 
questions,  "lambs  are  kind  of  cute.  Sometimes 
I  feel  bad  for  a  lamb  myself  when  his  mother 
won't  have  anything  to  do  with  him.  You  ought 
to  be  out  here  later  on,  Miss  Janet,  when  the 
lambs  have  all  been  born  and  are  starting  to  get 
frisky.  That 's  when  the  fun  begins." 

179 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  I  have  heard  that  lambs  play  together  like 
children,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  they  do.  You  see  they  Ve  got  to  learn 
jumping,  too.  And  climbing  —  like  a  goat.  That 
first  lamb  will  soon  be  so  lively  that  plain  running 
won't  be  good  enough  for  him.  He  '11  want  to  do 
fancy  tricks." 

"  Nature  teaches  them  to  play,"  observed 
Janet.  "  That 's  to  give  them  practice  and  make 
them  strong." 

"  I  should  say  she  did,"  said  Steve,  referring 
thus  familiarly  to  Nature.  "  She  puts  all  sorts  of 
notions  into  their  heads." 

"What  do  they  do,  for  instance,  Mr.  Brown?" 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  a  lamb  likes  to  practice 
jumping.  You  see,  sheep  don't  belong  on  prai- 
ries, like  cattle.  Cattle  belong  on  prairies  the  same 
as  buffalo,  but  sheep  don't ;  they  belong  on  moun- 
tains; that's  the  reason  the  young  ones  are  so 
handy  with  their  hoofs.  They  like  to  climb  and 
jump,  but  on  a  prairie  there  is  n't  any  place  to 
jump  off  of.  Well,  maybe  some  day  a  lamb  will 
be  galloping  and  cavorting  around,  and  he'll  come 
across  a  hunk  of  rock  salt  that  has  been  all  licked 
off  smooth  on  top  and  hollowed  out.  He'll  take 

1 80 


The  Wrong  Woman 

a  running  jump  at  that  and  land  on  it  with  all 
four  hoofs  in  one  spot  and  then  he'll  take  a  leap 
off  the  top.  Then,  when  he  sees  what  a  good  cir- 
cus actor  he  is,  he  will  gallop  right  around  and 
do  it  over  again ;  and  the  rest  of  his  gang  will 
start  in  and  follow  him,  because  what  one  sheep 
does  the  rest  have  got  to  do.  That  way  they  get 
to  running  in  a  circle  round  and  round  and  tak- 
ing turns  at  jumping." 

"  How  perfectly  funny !  "  exclaimed  Janet. 

"  That 's  the  way  they  do.  They  run  races  and 
play  *  stump-the-leader '  and  '  hi-spy  '  and  *  ring- 
around-the-rosy.'  Why,  Miss  Janet,  if  you  were 
out  here  a  little  later  on,  you  would  think  it  was 
recess  all  the  time." 
;  "  I  wish  I  might  be,"  said  Janet. 

"A  lamb  likes  to  be  on  the  go,"  he  continued. 
"Sheep  really  ain't  lively  enough  for  a  lamb,  so 
he  has  to  go  off  and  have  his  own  fun.  He  '11 
gallop  around  with  a  troop  of  other  lambs  and 
won't  stop  except  long  enough  to  go  home  for 
dinner." 

"I  don't  see,"  said  Janet,  "how  a  lamb  can 
go  away  like  that  and  ever  find  hrs  mother  again, 
in  such  a  crowd-  They  all  look  alike." 

181 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  That 's  easy  enough.  Every  sheep's  voice  is 
keyed  up  to  a  different  pitch;  they  all  sound  dif- 
ferent some  way  or  another.  And  every  lamb  has 
a  little  voice  of  his  own." 

"Yes,  I've  noticed  that.  But  I  didn't  know 
there  was  any  object  in  it.  Or  that  they  knew 
each  other's  voices." 

"  Oh,  certainly  they  do.  When  a  lamb  gets 
hungry  he  whisks  right  around  and  runs  into  the 
flock  and  starts  up  his  tune.  She'll  hear  it  and 
she  '11  start  up  too ;  and  that  way  they  '11  keep  sig- 
naling to  each  other.  A  lamb  will  run  into  a  crowd 
of  a  thousand  sheep  and  go  right  to  his  mother. 
When  he  has  arrived,  maybe  she  will  smell  him 
to  make  sure  ;  and  if  he  is  all  right,  why  —  then 
it  is  all  right/' 

"Then  they  don't  ever  go  by  looks,  even  when 
they're  acquainted." 

"  Oh,  no.  They  are  different  from  people. 
They  are  not  like  you  that  know  all  the  children 
by  sight  and  don't  have  to  call  the  roll.  When 
a  lamb  wants  to  find  a  sheep,  he  just  calls  and 
she  answers  f  Present.' ' 

Steve  Brown  did  not  seem  to  lose  sight  of  the 
fact  that  he  was  addressing  his  remarks  to  a  school- 

182 


The  Wrong  Woman 

teacher.  While  something  of  humor  passed  over 
his  countenance  at  times,  his  attitude  toward  her 
was  mainly  sober  and  earnest.  Janet,  all  absorbed 
in  the  subject  of  lambs,  was  in  quite  as  serious  a 
mood.  She  waited  for  him  to  continue ;  but  he 
was  not  one  to  keep  on  indefinitely  without  ques- 
tioning, not  presuming,  evidently,  to  know  how 
much  further  she  might  be  interested. 

"She  answers  'Present,''  repeated  Janet. 
"  Well,  then ;  while  they  are  answering  each  other, 
does  she  go  to  the  lamb  or  does  the  lamb  go  to 
her?" 

"Most  likely  they'll  go  to  each  other,  and 
meet  halfway.  You  see,  that 's  the  quickest  way. 
When  a  lamb  is  hungry  he  wants  his  dinner  right 
off." 

"  Then  they  are  not  any  trouble  in  that  way 
at  all,  are  they  !  " 

"Well  —  it's  all  easy  enough  after  they  have 
learned  each  other's  voices.  But  at  first  they 
don't  know  that,  and  it  takes  them  a  little  time 
to  get  it  into  their  minds.  That 's  when  a  herder 
has  got  trouble  to  keep  things  from  getting 
mixed  up.  And  if  she  has  twins  she  has  got  to 
learn  them  both  by  heart." 

183 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  That 's  so — she  would,  would  n't  she  !  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  And  twins  learn  to  know  each 
other,  too.  That 's  so  they  can  go  home  to  din- 
ner together.  For  of  course  if  she  let  one  of 
them  come  alone  it  would  n't  be  fair." 

"  Then  sheep  know  that  much  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  they  do.  I  guess  it 's 
nature  that  tends  to  that,  too.  But  there  's  a  lot 
that  nature  is  too  busy  to  tend  to.  Then  it 's  all 
up  to  the  herder." 

"  Lambs  are  really  quite  dependent  upon  hu- 
man care,  then,  are  n't  they?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  That  is,  if  you  want  to  try  and 
save  them  all  —  like  that  one."  He  pointed  to 
the  occupant  of  her  lap.  "  A  lamb  has  got  to  get 
a  meal  right  away,  and  a  little  sleep,  and  not  get 
too  chilled,  or  wet.  Then  if  his  mother  and  him 
stick  together  till  they  know  each  other  by  voice 
and  smell,  his  chances  are  all  right.  After  that 
you  could  n't  lose  him." 

"  How  long  will  it  be,  Mr.  Brown,  before 
everything  is  running  that  way  ?  " 

"  It  will  start  in  just  a  few  days.  Just  as  soon 
as  we  get  the  lamb  band  going." 

"The  lamb  band?"  she  quefied. 
184 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  We  have  some  lambs  there  in  the  corral  now. 
Well,  all  that  come  to-morrow  will  go  in  with 
them,  and  in  a  day  or  two  all  that  are  strong  and 
active  will  go  out  with  their  mothers  and  be  the 
lamb  band.  All  the  others  that  have  n't  dropped 
lambs  yet  are  called  the  drop  band ;  they  travel 
too  much  for  lambs.  Sheep  with  lambs  ought  to 
go  out  together  and  be  handled  separate.  Well, 
whenever  a  lamb  is  born  in  the  drop  band,  he  is 
brought  home  to  the  corral ;  then  when  he  knows 
things  and  is  a  little  stronger  he  goes  out  with 
the  lamb  band  ;  that  way  we  keep  advancing 
them  right  along,  same  as  in  school.  First  in  the 
First  Reader,  then  in  the  Second  Reader,  and  so 
on." 

!     "  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Janet,  growing  more  deeply 
interested. 

"And  it  is  n't  very  long,  of  course,  till  they 
have  all  gone  through  and  are  in  one  band  again. 
The  lambs  are  all  having  a  high  old  time  and 
managing  for  themselves  ;  and  then  one  man  can 
handle  them  again.  The  worst  of  the  trouble  is 
over,  and  there  are  not  so  many  things  to  do  all 
at  once." 

This  seemed  to  exhaust  the  subject. 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  to-morrow  ? "  she 
inquired. 

"  Well,  if  I  was  sure  that  the  herder  was  com- 
ing, I  would  just  take  them  out  and  let  the 
lambs  drop  behind,  the  same  as  to-day.  Then  if 
he  brings  the  wagon  along,  as  I  told  him  to,  he 
could  get  them  in  —  that  is,  if  there  are  a  great 
many  of  them.  There  might  not  be  many  lambs 
come;  but  the  trouble  is  that  you  can't  tell.  If 
I  thought  there  were  going  to  be  a  great  many 
lambs,  and  he  was  n't  coming  right  away,  I  would 
keep  the  whole  bunch  here  and  not  take  them 
out  at  all  —  that  is,  I  would  if  I  had  feed.  But 
I  could  hardly  feed  twelve  hundred  sheep  on  a 
mere  chance  if  I  had  it  to  spare.  But  then,  I 
don't  think  he  will  stay  away  any  longer.  I  '11 
just  take  them  out." 

"  Really,  it  is  quite  a  problem,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  That 's  just  what  I  was  beginning  to  think," 
he  replied. 

"  How  many  lambs  might  there  be  in  the 
next  day  or  two,  if  they  really  started  com- 
ing?" 

"  Maybe  two  or  three  hundred." 

"Two  or  —  !" 

186 


The  Wrong  Woman 

The  words  died  out  as  Janet  looked  down  in 
her  lap  and  considered  the  one.  He  was  resting 
comfortably. 

"  Two  —  or — three  —  hundred,"  she  repeated 
vacantly. 


CHAPTER   IX 

G'LANG  there,  yeoo-oo-oo,  Rip.  Yeoo-oo-oo, 
Squat.  Yeoo-oo-oo Buff. 

Bang. 

As  it  is  difficult  to  make  a  noise  in  print,  it 
might  be  well  to  explain  that,  of  the  above  words, 
the  last  is  supposed  to  sound  like  a  revolver- 
shot.  It  is  as  near  as  we  can  come  to  the  dis- 
turbance made  by  a  Texas  "  prairie  buster"  as  he 
came  down  Claxton  road. 

Ahead  of  him  were  ten  oxen  — five  yoke.  His 
far-reaching  bull-whip  exploded  just  beside  Rip's 
left  ear.  The  next  shot  took  Squat  exactly  as 
aimed.  There  was  a  momentary  scuffling  of  hoofs, 
an  awful  threat  in  the  ox-driving  language ;  then 
everything  went  on  peacefully  as  before.  The 
ox-driver  caught  the  returning  cracker  deftly  in 
two  fingers  of  his  right  hand  and  settled  down  on 
his  iron  seat  with  his  elbow  on  his  knee  while  he 
took  a  chew  of  tobacco.  The  big  tongue  of  his 
"  busting"  plow  knocked  in  the  ring  of  the 
wheelers'  yoke;  the  chain  clanked  idly  against  it; 

188 


The  Wrong  Woman 

a  little  cloud  of  debris  —  hair  and  dust  which  the 
cracker  had  bit  out  of  the  tuft  between  Squat's 
horns  —  floated  away  on  the  breeze. 

All  this  was  not  done  with  any  expectation  of 
making  them  go  faster.  For  an  ox  to  alter  his 
gait,  except  slightly  to  run  away,  would  be  unnat- 
ural. It  was  merely  to  convey  to  certain  ones  that 
they  were  not  out  to  enjoy  the  roadside  grass. 
And  to  remind  the  string  in  general  that  the  seat 
of  authority  was  still  being  occupied. 

For  several  days  his  voracious  plowshare  had 
been  turning  over  the  prairie  in  long  ribbons  of 
swath  like  the  pages  of  a  book.  Texas  in  those 
days  was  turning  over  a  new  leaf;  and  such  out- 
fits as  this  did  the  turning.  His  last  job  had  been 
to  put  an  addition  on  a  farm  for  an  Ohio  man 
about  six  miles  out  of  town  ;  he  had  turned  forty 
more  acres  of  tough  prairie  sod  black  side  up- 
wards and  left  behind  him  a  dry  dusky  square  in 
the  horizon-girt  green  of  the  range.  Being  now 
homeward  bound,  he  bent  his  sharp  gray  eyes 
upon  the  road  ahead.  The  Claxton  Road  com- 
munity, a  moneyed  streak  in  the  population,  was 
only  half  a  mile  away. 

In  the  distance  appeared  a  black  man  riding 
189 


The  Wrong  Woman 

a  broncho  mule.  It  was  Colonel  Chase's  man, 
Uncle  Israel ;  he  was  coming  along  at  an  unsatis- 
factory pace,  using  his  quirt  regularly  and  re- 
monstrating with  the  mule.  As  he  drew  near  the 
head  of  the  ox  procession,  the  driver  roared  out 
a  Wo'O-o-o  in  a  tone  which  was  intended  to  be 
understood  as  a  general  command ;  the  powerful 
wheelers  held  back  obediently  and  drew  the  chain 
tight  in  their  efforts  to  stop ;  the  rest  of  the  string, 
after  pulling  them  a  short  distance,  also  obeyed. 

"  Hello,  Uncle." 

"  Good-mawnin',  Mistah  Hicks." 

"  How 's  things  doing  down  home  ?  Anything 
new?" 

"Well  —  no,  sah.  Ev'ything  jes'  'bout  de 
same." 

"Is  the  Colonel  home?" 

"No,  sah.    He's  done  gone  to  San  Antone." 

"  Has  he  shipped  yet?" 

"  Yes,  sah." 

"Who  went  up  to  Chicago  with  them?" 

"Mistah  Sattleean*  John  Dick  an'  some  mo'." 

"Is  Steve  Brown  at  home?" 

"No,  sah.  He  's  gone  somewha's.  An'  he  am' 
come  back.  Mos'  all  de  men  folks  is  gone  away." 

190 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  Has  Miss  Alice  got  back  yet  ?  " 
"  No,  sah.  She 's  off  to  de  school-house  in 
Boston  yet.  An'  it  ain't  leff  out.  She  's  gwine  be 
back  dis  spring." 

"What's  cattle  bringing  now?  " 
"Dunno,  sah.  I  heah  dey 's  done  riz." 
"Has  little  Johnnie  Martin  got  his  curls  cut 
yet?" 

"  No,  sah.  Ah  seed  'em  on  him." 
"What 's  doing  in  town  ?  Anything  new  there  ? " 
"  No,  sah.  Jes'  'bout  de  same  as  usual." 
Uncle  Israel,  feeling  that  his  information  had 
not  been  very  abundant,  scratched  his  head  and 
stirred  his  mind  up  thoroughly  for  news.    He 
met  the  demand  with  two  pieces  of  information. 
"  De  railroad's'  done  built  a  new  loadin'-pen. 
An'  dat  high-tone  bull  took  sick  wif  acclimatin'. 
But  we  's  got  him  restin'  easy  now." 

"The  railroad's  getting  real  extravagant,  ain't 
it?"  commented  Jonas,  turning  his  attention  to 
the  oxen  again. 

Having  said  a  few  words  appropriate  to  the 
occasion  of  starting  up,  he  flung  out  his  bull- 
whip  in  a  flourish  of  aerial  penmanship  and 
drove  home  the  aforesaid  remarks  with  a  startling 

191 


The  Wrong  Woman 

report.  Again  the  bovine  procession  got  under 
way. 

In  the  course  of  time  he  came  to  where  Claxton 
road  ends  and  Claxton  Road  begins.  It  will  be 
recalled  that  Claxton  road,  hemmed  in  by  barb 
wire,  leads  interminably  past  vacant  stretches  of 
prairie  with  occasionally  a  farm  and  farmhouse. 
Nearing  town  its  scene  and  atmosphere  suddenly 
change.  On  the  left  are  the  ranchmen's  home 
estates,  with  the  stables  and  windmills  and  short 
avenues  of  china-berry  trees  leading  up  to  com- 
fortable porches;  to  the  right,  or  facing  these,  is  a 
large  square  of  green  with  no  roadside  houses  and 
no  longer  any  confining  fence.  To  any  one  who 
had  come  a  long  distance  between  the  barb  wires, 
this  emergence  upon  the  free,  open  common  was 
very  much  as  if  he  had  been  following  a  stream 
which,  after  long  confinement  to  its  course,  opens 
out  suddenly  into  a  lake.  This  piece  of  land  was 
not  different  from  the  prairie  it  had  always  been, 
except  that  the  houses  which  faced  it  on  all  sides, 
as  if  it  were  a  lake  of  the  summer-resort  variety, 
gave  it  an  importance  which  was  not  its  own.  It 
was  no  more  nor  less  than  a  square  of  primeval 
prairie  whose  owner,  being  satisfied  with  it,  let  it 

192 


The  Wrong  Woman 

be  as  it  was.  Surrounded  on  all  sides  by  real 
estate  and  other  improvements,  it  held  its  own 
as  immovably  as  if  Texas  had  here  taken  her  last 
stand,  in  hollow  square,  against  the  encroachments 
of  civilization.  It  belonged  to  Jonas  Hicks.  In 
the  exact  middle  of  it  was  the  paintless  frame 
house  which  we  have  already  mentioned. 

This  structure  is  easily  described.  It  con- 
sisted of  a  house  with  one  room  downstairs  and 
one  room  upstairs.  Its  boarding  was  of  the  kind 
that  runs  up  and  down  with  battening  strips  at 
the  cracks.  Any  one  familiar  with  prairie  archi- 
tecture would  see  at  once  that  the  owner,  having 
a  house  to  build,  had  gone  straightway  to  work 
and*erected  a  herder's  shack  on  a  residential 
scale  and  put  some  windows  in  it.  Because  of  its 
porchlessness  it  seemed  rather  tall,  as  if  it  had 
grown  after  it  was  built  or  had  stretched  itself  up 
to  get  a  better  view ;  and  the  single  window  in 
the  end  of  the  upper  story  gave  it  a  watchful  ap- 
pearance. This  watchful  window,  which  might 
be  said  to  mark  its  front,  looked  toward  the 
residences  along  Williston  Road. 

The  cottages  which  faced  this  place  on  the  side 
toward  town  were  confined  to  "  lots  "  along  an 

193 


The  Wrong  Woman 

unpaved  street.  Across  on  Claxton  Road  town 
lots  grew  to  the  size  of  country  estates  and  looked 
more  commanding.  But  the  shack  house,  with 
its  twenty  acres  of  elbow  room,  rather  commanded 
them  all,  especially  as  its  central  position  marked 
the  common  as  its  own  grounds.  Being  tall  and 
upright  and  spare,  like  a  Texan,  it  had  an  atti- 
tude toward  them  like  that  of  a  pioneer  drill- 
master  ;  it  seemed  to  be  standing  out  on  the 
drill-grounds  with  the  other  houses  all  marshaled 
up  before  it  and  toeing  the  social  line. 

The  place  was  given  shape  and  form  entirely 
by  the  other  property,  all  of  which  was  fenced  on 
its  own  side  of  the  highway,  the  owner  of  the 
twenty  acres  never  having  shut  it  off  from*  the 
roads  which  passed  along  two  sides  of  it.  This 
hospitable  openness  was  a  fortunate  thing  for  the 
traveling  public,  affording  as  it  did  a  short  cut 
to  town.  Quite  a  little  of  the  traffic  that  came 
down  Williston  Road  turned  out  and  followed 
the  trail  which  led  diagonally  across  it  past  the 
door  of  the  house.  And  usually  the  traveler, 
whether  horseman  or  driver,  would  speak  in 
passing;  or,  more  likely,  stop  to  have  a  talk  with 
Jonas  Hicks,  who,  if  he  were  at  home,  might  be 

194 


The  Wrong  Woman 

engaged  in  plaiting  a  whip  or  mixing  batter  for 
pancakes  or  taking  a  stitch  in  his  clothes,  the  iron 
seat  of  a  "  prairie-busting  "  plow  being  particularly 
hard  on  the  seat  of  a  man's  trousers.  It  was  to 
this  place  that  the  plowman  was  bending  his 
homeward  way. 

Eventually,  as  oxen  always  do,  they  arrived. 
Having  navigated  them  up  to  the  kitchen  door 
and  brought  them  to  a  stop  with  a  stentorian 
Wo^  he  unhooked  the  wheelers,  dropped  the 
chain  from  each  yoke,  and  turned  them  loose  to 
graze  or  lie  down  as  each  pair  might  decide  ; 
then  he  went  around  the  corner  of  the  house 
and  set  to  work  making  a  fire  in  the  stove.  It 
was  an  outdoor  stove  of  the  locomotive  variety, 
having  two  large  iron  wheels  upon  which  it  had 
traveled  thousands  of  miles  in  the  service  of  the 
J.  W.  Cattle  Company.  Mr.  Hicks  had  fastened 
its  tongue  or  handle  to  a  staple  in  the  chimney 
of  the  house,  for  which  chimney  it  had  no  use, 
having  a  smoke-stack  of  its  own. 

When  the  stove  was  belching  forth  smoke 
he  turned  his  attention  to  the  inside  of  the  house. 
Presently  he  came  out  with  a  pan  of  flour  and 
various  kitchen  utensils  which  he  placed  on  a 

195 


The  Wrong  Woman 

bench  beside  the  door  ;  then  he  drew  a  bucket 
of  water  and  proceeded  to  mix  pancake  batter. 
He  had  not  accomplished  much  when  he  was 
interrupted.  Just  when  the  batter  was  mixed  to 
the  right  consistency,  and  the  first  spoonful  was 
ready  to  go  on,  a  little  girl  appeared.  She  had  a 
pie  which  she  bore  before  her  with  a  look  of 
great  responsibility.  • 

"Ma  says  maybe  you  would  like  to  have  a 
pie." 

"  Why,  how  do,  Susie.  How  's  Susie  getting 
along  these  days  ?  " 

"  Real  well,"  replied  Susan,  holding  the  pie 
up  higher. 

Mr.  Hicks  bent  his  tall  Texas  form  in  the 
middle  and  took  it  from  her.  The  pie  had  the 
outlines  of  a  star  in  its  centre  by  way  of  a  vent- 
hole  ;  the  edges  were  nicely  crimped. 

"  It 's  a  mighty  good-looking  pie.  What  does 
that  stand  for,  Susie  ?  "  he  asked,  holding  the 
pie  up  so  that  she  could  view  its  face  and  plac- 
ing his  finger  upon  its  centre. 

"  That  stands  for  Texas,"  answered  Susan 
promptly. 

Mr.  Hicks  put  the  pie  on  the  bench  and  sat 
196 


The  Wrong  Woman 

down  beside  it  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees. 
Something  like  a  smile  betrayed  itself  in  the  lean 
muscles  of  his  jaw  and  showed  somehow  around 
his  large  aggressive  chin. 

"  How  does  it  come  that  you  didn't  go  to 
school  to-day,  Susie?  "  He  pointed  to  the  white 
frame  school-house  which  occupied  a  corner  of 
his  place. 

"'Cause,"  answered  Susan,  by  way  of  complete 
explanation. 

"  That 's  a  mighty  good  reason.  If  I  had  an 
excuse  like  that  I  would  n't  go  to  school  myself. 
How  's  your  ma  ?  Is  she  well  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir.  Only  she  had  a  kinda  headache  this 
morning,  and  I  wiped  the  dishes." 

"You  did?  How  did  you  know  so  quick  that 
I  was  back  ?  Were  you  watching  for  me  so  that 
you  could  bring  over  the  pie?" 

"Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Susan,  "  we  heard  you  com- 
ing. We  could  hear  you  saying  bad  words  when 
you  was  'way  up  the  road." 
!•  A  change  suddenly  came  over  the  spirit  of 
Mr.  Hicks's  physiognomy.  He  sat  stroking  his 
wide-spreading  moustache.  Jonas  Hicks  had  a 
self-made  moustache  which  seemed  to  have  bor- 

197 


The  Wrong  Woman 

rowed  its  style  from  the  horns  of  a  Texas  steer. 
It  might  be  said  that,  for  the  moment,  he  looked 
serious ;  but  you  could  never  tell  from  his  face 
exactly  what  his  emotions  were.  It  was  against 
his  'principles  to  be  caught  laughing,  and  yet 
his  solemnity  was  somewhat  radiant  despite 
him. 

Suddenly  he  rose  and  went  into  the  house.  In 
a  little  while  he  reappeared  carrying  a  milk-pan 
filled  with  comb-honey.  It  was  white  honey  which 
the  bees  had  deposited  in  his  useless  chimney  ; 
the  sirup  filled  the  pan  almost  to  its  edge,  while 
the  middle  was  piled  high  with  oozing  chunks 
of  comb.  He  placed  it  on  the  bench  beside  him. 
The  eyes  of  Susan  opened  wide  as  she  saw  this 
sight.  He  talked  about  one  thing  and  another 
and  asked  her  many  inconsequential  questions. 
After  much  tantalizing  talk  on  Mr.  Hicks's  part, 
she  learned  that  the  honey  was  for  her  and  that 
she  was  to  take  it  all  home  with  her. 

Susan  was  for  starting  home  at  once. 

"  What '  s  your  hurry,  Susie?  Won't  you  stay 
a  while  and  have  a  piece  of  pie?" 

"  I  'd  rather  I  'd  have  a  pancake,"  said  Susan, 
looking  furtively  at  the  smoking  griddle. 

198 


The  Wrong  Woman 

He  rose  at  once  and  put  on  a  large  spoonful 
of  batter.  When  the  cake  was  ready  to  turn,  he 
caused  it  to  turn  a  somersault  with  a  quick  toss 
of  the  griddle ;  then  he  spread  it  evenly  with  honey 
and  rolled  it  into  the  form  of  a  cylinder  with  the 
honey  inside. 

"  There,  now,  Susie.  That 's  what  I  call  a  joof- 
\ickumtamale.  It's  pancake  de la  verandah.  Watch 
out  that  you  don't  burn  your  fingers." 

He  set  the  griddle  temporarily  aside  and  sat 
down  again.  While  Susan  ate,  she  leaned  across 
his  tall  knee  and  looked  up  at  him  admiringly. 

"I    like   your    pancakes,"    she    volunteered. 
"Your  pancakes  has  got  fringe  on  them." 

Mr.  Hicks's  countenance  took  on  more  of  an 
expression  around  the  eyes;  he  regarded  her  with 
deep  interest. 

"  All  the  boys  at  school  like  your  pancakes, 
too,"  she  continued.  "They  are  coming  over  some 
other  recess  when  you  are  home,  and  you  can 
make  them  all  a  pancake  again.  Will  you  put 
honey  on  their  pancakes  ?  " 

"For  boys!"  exclaimed  Susan's  heroine  in 
great  surprise.  "No  honey  for  boys.  Honey  is 
only  for  girls." 

199 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"And  mas  too,"  added  Susan.  "Ain't  honey 
for  mas  too  ? " 

"  Does  n't  your  ma  make  them  with  fringe  on  ? " 
inquired  Jonas,  in  hope  of  making  a  new  start. 

Susan  vouchsafed  no  reply.  The  subject  stood 
in  abeyance  while  she  feasted  and  took  thought. 
Presently  her  attention  rested  upon  the  griddle. 
On  it  there  was  a  diminutive  pancake  which  had 
made  itself  from  the  drippings  of  an  overgenerous 
spoonful. 

"I  like  little  pancakes  too,"  she  hinted. 

Jonas  took  it  off  and  presented  it  to  her. 

"There,  Susie.  When  you  go  home  you  can 
give  that  to  your  dollie." 

Susan's  eyes  seemed  to  expand  as  she  turned 
them  up  to  Mr.  Hicks,  the  source  of  supernal 
illumination.  If  the  pancake  had  seemed  desirable, 
this  wonderful  idea  was  ten  times  as  much  of  a 
present.  Her  bliss  grew  visibly  deeper  as  she 
looked  first  at  the  pancake  and  then  at  the  re- 
sourceful Mr.  Hicks.  She  was  so  completely  won 
that  she  consented  to  sit  on  his  knee.  There  she 
resumed  her  tamale  in  the intervals'of conversation. 

"  Mr.  Hicks.  How  did  the  bees  come  to  go 
down  your  chimbly  ? " 

200 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"'Cause,"  replied  Mr.  Hicks. 

"  Oh,  Mister  Hicks  —  tell  me  why  the  bees 
went  down  your  chimbly.  I  want  to  know  why." 

"  I  guess  they  thought  it  was  an  old  hollow  tree." 

"  Do  you  think  maybe  they  would  think  our 
chimbly  was  an  old  hollow  tree?  Oh,  I  wish  they 
would  come  down  our  chimbly." 

"  Oh,  they  would  n't  come  down  your  chimney. 
That  would  n't  do  at  all." 

"  Why  would  n't  they,  Mr.  Hicks  ?  " 

"'Cause,"  answered  Jonas,  still  pretending  to 
be  taciturn  and  mysterious. 

"  Oh,  Mister  Hicks.  Please  don't  talk  that  way. 
Tell  me  why." 

"  Because,"  explained  Mr.  Hicks,  "bees  would 
know  better  than  that.  If  they  came  and  stopped 
your  chimney  all  up  with  honey,  how  would  Santa 
Claus  ever  get  down  ?  Who  gave  you  the  dolly  ?  " 

"  Santa  Claus." 

"Well,  don't  you  see  if  the  chimney  was  all 
full  of  honey  he  would  get  it  all  over  his  clothes? 
And  all  over  her  clothes?  And  besides,  he  would 
get  his  whiskers  all  chock-full  of  honey.  How 
would  you  like  to  have  your  curls  all  full  of 
molasses  ? " 

201 


The  Wrong  Woman 

As  he  made  this  remark  he  lifted  a  curl  and 
contemplated  it,  the  truth  being  that  he  was  not 
nearly  so  much  interested  in  the  honey  as  in  her 
hair.  He  made  these  remarks  simply  by  way  of 
sticking  to  the  subject.  Susan,  conscious  of  her 
curls,  gave  her  head  a  toss  which  sent  them  fly- 
ing about  her  face,  one  side  and  then  the  other; 
then  she  took  another  bite  and  returned  to  her 
speculations. 

"  Did  the  bees  know  that  you  have  n't  got 
any  little  girl  ?  " 

Mr.  Hicks  was  inclined  to  sanction  the  idea 
that  the  bees  had  this  view  of  the  uselessness  of 
his  chimney.  The  subject  of  his  girllessness  lead- 
ing on  to  another  case  of  "  why,"  he  fell  back 
promptly  upon  the  hollow  tree  theory  pure  and 
simple ;  the  which  he  took  pains  to  establish  by 
stories  of  trees  filled  with  honey  and  of  terrible 
big  bears  that  lived  in  the  trees  and  ate  the  honey. 
He  was  going  on  to  consider  the  advantages  of 
living  in  a  hollow  tree — with  a  good  strong  door 
to  it  —  when  a  new  game  offered  itself. 

Leaning  forward  and  turning  his  head  to  see 
how  the  stove  was  doing,  the  end  of  his  long 
moustache  stroked  Susan  under  the  chin  and  drew 

202 


The  Wrong  Woman 

a  fine  trail  of  titillation  across  her  throat.  To  the 
surprise  of  the  owner  of  the  "  whiskers,"  she 
clapped  her  chin  to  her  shoulder  and  shrank  from 
the  excruciating  touch.  Before  long  Mr.  Hicks 
had  occasion  to  turn  his  head  to  the  other  side. 
This  time  it  tickled  even  more  and  Susan  had  to 
giggle.  After  that  a  surprising  number  of  things, 
of  all  imaginable  sorts,  demanded  his  attention 
on  one  side  or  the  other,  and  every  time  the 
moustache  acted  in  the  same  manner,  much  to 
the  surprise  of  the  innocent  Mr.  Hicks.  As  soon 
as  that  beard  developed  its  full  powers  of  tickling, 
it  took  effect  wherever  it  touched,  and  Susan  had 
to  protect  herself  by  grabbing  the  moustache  and 
pushing  Mr.  Hicks's  face,  which  face  seemed 
able  to  stand  any  amount  of  rough  usage.  When 
finally  his  every  move  produced  such  paroxysms 
of  laughter  that  she  could  stand  it  no  longer, 
Susan  squirmed  out  of  his  arms.  Then,  with  sud- 
den seriousness,  she  picked  up  the  doll's  pan- 
cake which  had  fallen  from  her  hand.  Their  visit 
thus  brought  to  an  end,  Jonas  did  not  try  to  re- 
new it ;  he  was  growing  hungry.  He  gave  her 
the  pan  of  honey  and  placed  her  hands  so  that 
she  would  hold  it  level. 

203 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  There,  now,  Susan.  Be  careful  that  you  don't 
fall  down  and  get  any  of  it  in  your  mouth." 

Susan,  who  was  nobody's  fool,  knew  that 
Mr.  Hicks  sometimes  made  remarks  which  were 
purposely  foolish.  This  one  engaged  her  mind 
for  a  moment  as  if  she  hoped  to  make  head  and 
tail  of  it,  but  as  it  seemed  to  be  unanswerable  she 
gave  him  an  amused  look  and  started  for  home. 

As  Susan  neared  her  front  gate  another  visitor 
was  approaching  —  this  time  from  the  direction 
of  Claxton  Road.  It  was  Mrs.  Norton  ;  she  had 
in  mind  to  get  the  rockery  returned.  Jonas, 
watching  Susan  to  see  whether  she  got  home 
with  the  honey  unspilt,  was  oblivious  to  the  half 
of  the  world  that  was  behind  his  back  ;  but  when 
he  turned  about  and  took  up  the  dish  of  batter, 
intending  to  pour  out  a  griddleful  of  pancakes, 
he  saw  her  coming.  Immediately  he  seized  the 
pie  and  hurried  it  into  the  house.  By  the  time 
he  came  out  she  had  arrived. 

"  Good-morning,  Mrs.  Norton." 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Hicks.  Have  you  got 
all  through  with  your  work  ? " 

"  All  except  sewing  on  a  few  buttons.  Plough- 
ing is  all  done  for  the  present,  I  guess." 

204 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  Mr.  Hicks,  we  have  been  wondering  whether 
you  could  do  us  a  little  favor.  The  ladies  of  the 
Chautauqua  Circle  have  been  studying  geology, — 
the  earth,  you  know,  —  and  we  needed  some 
stones  for  specimens  —  samples.  And  of  course 
stones  are  not  very  plentiful  around  here  —  " 

"  Why  don't  you  go  and  take  some  out  of  Steve 
Brown's  rockery  ?  Help  yourself,  as  God  says." 

"  Why,  that 's  just  what  we  did  do.  We  were 
passing  there,  and  we  each  took  one  —  without 
particularly  thinking.  They  are  lying  behind 
Colonel  Chase's  big  gate.  We  got  them  up  there, 
but  found  they  were  rather  heavy.  Could  we  get 
you  to  haul  them  back  for  us  ? " 

"  I  bet  you  could,  Mrs.  Norton.  The  next 
time  I  pass  there  with  the  wagon  I  '11  put  them 
on.  I  don't  suppose  those  stones  are  in  any 
particular  hurry,  are  they?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Norton,  taking  thought, 
"  I  have  been  thinking  that  perhaps  it  would  be 
just  as  well  to  get  them  back  before  he  comes 
home.  He  is  out  at  the  Thompson  ranch  tending 
to  those  sheep  again,  you  know." 

"  Did  you  hear  whether  any  one  went  with 
him?" 

205 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"Well,  no — er — yes.  That  is,  I  don't  really 
know  whether  there  is  or  not.  I  heard  there  was 
somebody  out  there." 

Her  answer,  or  the  manner  of  it,  struck  Jonas 
as  peculiar. 

"  Extra  herder  or  two  ?  "  he  suggested. 

"  One  of  the  boys  who  was  out  at  the  ranch 
told  somebody  in  town  that  there  was  somebody 
out  there.  The  regular  herder  was  up  at  the 
county-seat  and  had  n't  got  back." 

Mrs.  Norton,  now  that  she  had  boggled,  by 
surprise,  into  the  acknowledgment  that  she  knew 
anything  whatever  about  the  matter,  felt  herself 
in  a  problematical  position.  She  did  not  know 
whether  his  question  had  been  accidental  or  not ; 
it  sounded  as  if  he  knew ;  possibly  he  had  put  it 
as  a  feeler  to  discover  whether  she  knew.  In 
which  case  the  subject  became  rather  difficult; 
she  did  not  know  whether  to  dissemble,  nor  how 
much  to  dissemble,  nor  how  to  do  it. 

Jonas,  his  curiosity  aroused,  persevered  with 
more  inquiries.  Mrs.  Norton,  after  answering 
with  a  few  vague  references  to  Tuck  Reedy's 
report,  suddenly  made  a  bald  evasion  of  the 
subject;  she  went  back  without  ceremony  to  the 
206 


The  Wrong  Woman 

subject  of  rocks.  Jonas  had  a  new  feeling  that 
there  was  something  peculiar  about  the  matter. 

"And  so  I  was  thinking,"  continued  Mrs. 
Norton,  "  that  we  had  better  return  them  pretty 
soon.  It  was  really  an  improper  thing  for  us  to 
do  —  though  we  did  not  particularly  think  of  it 
at  the  time.  If  he  came  home  and  found  the 
rockery  gone  he  might  not  like  it." 

"  Steve  is  rather  peculiar,  some  ways,"  re- 
marked Jonas. 

"Is  he?  In  what  way?" 

This  remark  of  his  had  seemed  to  bear  upon 
the  hidden  subject.  She  had  hope  of  receiving 
moral  enlightenment  from  the  masculine  stand- 
point. 

"  Mostly  about  rocks.  Did  you  ever  hear  about 
the  time  I  hauled  that  tombstone  for  him  ? " 

"I  knew  you  did,  of  course.  What  did  he 
do?" 

"Well,  he  did  n't  do  anything  much.  He  ex- 
pected me  to  drive  oxen  without  using  any  strong 
language.  Just  took  a  sudden  notion  he  did  n't 
want  it.  I  had  got  that  stone  loaded  onto  a  strong 
truck  that  I  had  rigged  up  apurpose ;  then  I 
started  up  and  got  the  cattle  headed  up  Main 
207 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Street  in  fine  shape.  Steve  was  coming  along  on 
the  sidewalk.  All  of  a  sudden  he  stepped  out 
into  the  road  and  spoke  to  me.  He  said  he  did  n't 
like  the  sound  of  it  and  he  wished  I  'd  leave  out 
the  swearing.  He  said  it  rather  cool  and  solemn, 
like  Pastor  Gates  does  when  he  says  to  omit  the 
second  stanza.  For  a  minute  I  did  n't  know  what 
to  think.  I  was  doing  a  plain  job  of  ox-driving 
and  I  told  him  so.  'That's  all  right;  I  under- 
stand that,'  he  says.  '  But  you  don't  expect  to  go 
cussing  into  that  cemetery,  do  you?'  'Well  — 
no/  I  says.  { Not  since  you  mention  it. '  For  a 
minute  he  had  me  where  I  could  n't  go  ahead 
nor  back  up.  A  man  has  got  to  use  language  to 
oxen,  and  what  is  he  going  to  say  ?  I  am  so  used 
to  it  that  I  don't  even  hear  myself,  unless  I  stop 
to  listen  ;  and  so  it  does  n't  mean  any  more  than 
the  oxen  understand  by  it.  And  that  is  n't  much. 
'No,'  I  says,  'not  since  you  mention  it.'  'Well, 
then,'  he  says,  '  you  might  as  well  quit  now. 
Afterwards  you  can  drive  them  any  way  you 
please  and  say  anything  you  want.  But  it  does  n't 
sound  right  to  me  now,  and  I  don't  want  any 
swearing  on  this  job.'  He  said  it  in  such  a  way 
that  I  could  see  just  about  how  he  felt  about  it. 

208 


The  Wrong  Woman 

I  saw  that  any  more  of  it  would  n't  do.  I  guess 
I  ought  to  'a'  thought  of  it  myself." 

"  And  did  you  succeed  in  doing  as  he  wished  ? " 
asked  Mrs.  Norton. 

"Well,  I  managed  to  get  them  there  some- 
how —  considering  I  had  n't  had  any  time  to 
practice.  It  made  me  wonder,  though,  what  a 
deaf  and  dumb  man  would  think  if  he  got  a  job 
driving  oxen." 

"And  that  is  what  you  mean  by  his  being 
peculiar  ? " 

"  That 's  sort  of  it.  But  maybe  that  one 
does  n't  quite  cover  the  point.  What  I  mean  is 
that  he  's  got  all  sorts  of  notions  of  what 's  right 
and  wrong;  and  he  tells  it  to  you  all  of  a  sudden. 
He  's  quicker  'n  pig-tail  lightning." 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  might  think  it  wrong  for 
us  to  meddle  with  his  property  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  He  is  n't  that  way.  You  know 
how  he  is  about  such  things.  And  besides  he 
would  n't  be  likely  to  say  anything.  I  only  men- 
tioned that  tombstone  business  because  his  mother 
set  so  much  store  by  the  rockery.  He  looks  at 
that  as  a  sort  of  a  monument." 

A  look  of  deep  seriousness  came  over  Mrs. 
209 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Norton's    countenance.     It    deepened    as    she 
thought. 

"  Of  course,  Mr.  Hicks,  we  intended  to  tell 
him  about  it  —  and  thank  him  for  the  use  of 
the  stones.  But  possibly  it  would  be  more  con- 
siderate not  to  say  anything  about  it." 

"  Not  tell  him  at  all,"  repeated  Jonas  reflect- 
ively. 

"  But  I  suppose  that  no  matter  how  we  put  them 
back  he  would  notice  that  it  had  been  changed." 

"Yes.  I  guess  he  knows  it  by  heart.  He  had 
those  blue-flower  vines  started  on  it." 

"It  was  really  very  thoughtless  of  us,"  mused 
Mrs.  Norton. 

"  Oh,  well ;  it  is  n't  anything  serious,"  re- 
marked Jonas.  "  If  he  seems  serious  about  it  you 
can  blame  me.  Tell  him  I  told  you  to.  I  'm 
really  part  owner  anyway ;  I  discovered  a  lot  of 
those  stones  and  put  them  there.  He  '11  under- 
stand how  it  was.  And  if  he  says  anything  to  me 
I  '11  tell  him  I  did  n't  think.  If  you  want  me  to 
I  '11  make  it  all  right  when  I  go  out  there  this 
afternoon." 

"Are  you  going  out  there  ?  "  she  asked,  look- 
ing up  with  sudden  interest. 

210 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  I  've  been  thinking  I  would.  I  want  to  drop 
out  those  three  middle  yoke  and  let  them  run 
on  grass  a  while.  While  I  'm  out  there,  I  guess 
I  '11  make  Steve  a  call  and  stop  overnight.  It  '11 
be  late  when  I  get  there." 

"Oh!" 

She  saw  a  very  lively  and  interesting  picture 
of  Mr.  Hicks's  arrival  at  the  shack.  He  would 
not  be  a  very  welcome  visitor,  she  thought. 
Having  the  misconceptions  she  did  of  affairs  at 
the  ranch,  she  saw  all  sorts  of  possibilities;  she 
said  nothing,  however,  which  would  keep  this 
interesting  three-cornered  meeting  from  taking 
place.  She  turned  the  conversation  at  once  into 
other  channels.  Having  answered  his  inquiries 
regarding  neighborhood  affairs,  and  having  been 
finally  assured  that  he  would  return  the  rockery 
and  make  everything  "  all  right,"  she  took  her 
leave. 

Jonas  had  had  no  very  definite  intention  of 
undertaking  the  journey  at  once ;  but  now  that 
his  mind  was  turned  in  that  direction,  he  saw  that 
to-day  was  as  good  as  to-morrow,  or  even  the 
day  after ;  he  fired  up  the  stove  and  again  took 
the  batter  in  hand.  This  time  the  pancakes  went 

211 


The  Wrong  Woman 

ahead  without  interruption.  When  he  had  stacked 
up  the  requisite  number,  and  eaten  them  with 
honey  and  bacon,  he  hooked  the  wheelers  to  the 
wagon,  and  then  added  the  rest  of  the  cattle, 
yoke  after  yoke.  The  plough  was  to  remain 
where  it  was.  Ensconced  upon  the  more  altitud- 
inous  seat  of  authority  he  swung  his  lash  out  with 
a  report  like  a  starting-gun  and  made  his  way, 
with  the  necessary  language,  across  the  open  and 
up  Claxton  Road. 

Jonas's  trip  to  the  ranch  took  longer  than  it 
takes  to  tell  it.  But  there  is  not,  in  truth,  any- 
thing about  the  trip  itself  to  tell  —  and  yet  there 
ought  to  be  some  way  of  describing  time.  Under 
the  circumstances,  and  especially  as  oxen  cannot 
be  hurried,  it  might  be  well  to  pass  the  time  by 
talking  about  Jonas  Hicks's  past;  it  will  be  bet- 
ter than  to  take  up  the  scenery  again.  In  those 
parts  the  scenery,  if  the  weather  remains  settled, 
is  rather  uneventful ;  it  is  the  same  when  you  ar- 
rive as  when  you  started.  On  a  prairie  the  human 
mind  carries  its  own  scenery. 

Jonas  Hicks's  past  had  been  somewhat  varie- 
gated and  thus  all  of  a  piece.  Some  years  be- 
fore the  present  moment,  when  the  railroad  was 

212 


The  Wrong  Woman 

younger  and  the  "garden  spot  of  the  world"  was 
just  beginning  to  attract  attention  to  its  future, 
Jonas  carelessly  acquired  a  patch  of  forty  acres 
near  the  new  town  of  Thornton.  At  that  time 
he  was  still  "on  the  drive,"  a  vocation  which  took 
him  with  the  big  herds  anywhere  from  Texas  to 
Fort  Benton  in  Montana.  In  the  calling  of  cow- 
boy he  had,  by  a  process  of  natural  selection,  risen 
and  gradually  settled  into  the  character  of  cook. 
Risen,  we  say,  because,  in  a  cattle  outfit,  there  is 
not  a  more  important  and  unquestioned  person- 
age ;  his  word  is  law  and  they  call  him  pet  names. 
However,  from  the  day  he  got  down  out  of  the 
saddle,  in  an  emergency,  and  consented  to  act  in 
the  capacity  of  "Ma,"  —  which  was  a  joke, —  he 
was  in  continual  demand  as  cook,  with  increasing 
popularity.  Though  he  still  claimed  the  ability 
to  ride  and  rope  and  hog-tie  with  the  best  of 
them,  he  was  thenceforth  a  cook  with  all  the 
cook's  perquisites  and  autocratic  say-so.  There 
is  nowhere,  we  might  observe,  so  deep  an  indi- 
cation of  the  true  power  of  Woman  as  this  respect 
that  is  paid  to  her  position,  even  when  it  is  being 
occupied  by  a  red-faced  being  who  wears  whiskers 
and  who  has  no  real  right,  of  his  own,  to  be  any- 

213 


The  Wrong  Woman 

thing  more  than  an  equal  of  his  brother  man. 
But  the  cook's  laws  must  not  be  disobeyed;  they 
allow  him  to  make  laws  because  he  is  cook;  mas- 
culine sentiment  is  on  his  side ;  human  welfare 
demands  it.  As  Jonas  was  popular  in  the  posi- 
tion, and  did  not  mind  the  work  when  it  was  ap- 
preciated, he  continued  to  fry  bacon  and  fringy 
flapjacks  and,  in  general,  to  furnish  "  the  grease 
of  life,"  as  he  called  it,  to  the  outfit.  And  while 
he  was  doing  it  his  fellows  conducted  the  beef,  on 
ten  thousand  legs,  from  the  South  to  the  North. 
They  took  them  North  so  that  they  would  put 
on  fat  under  the  stimulus  of  a  Northern  winter. 
In  those  days  he  engineered  the  peculiar  cook- 
stove  which  we  have  already  noticed.  It  was  a 
big,  square,  sheet-iron  stove  with  an  iron  axle  and 
wheels  like  those  of  a  sulky  plow.  This  piece 
of  machinery  was  hooked  on  behind  the  chuck- 
wagon,  which  it  followed  from  clime  to  clime. 
Jonas,  being  a  live  man  and  a  "  hustler,"  seldom 
waited  for  the  outfit  to  reach  the  camping-place  and 
come  to  a  halt  before  starting  to  get  a  meal.  As  he 
explained,  he  had  to  get  about  a  two-mile  start  on 
their  appetites,  with  pancakes;  and  so,  while  the 
stove  was  yet  far  off  from  its  destination,  he  would 

214 


The  Wrong  Woman 

fire  up  and  get  things  going.  Then  he  would  trot 
along  behind  and  cook.  While  "  she  "  (the  stove) 
lurched  into  buffalo  wallows  and  rode  the  swells 
and  unrolled  the  smoke  of  her  stack  far  out  across 
the  billowy  prairie,  Jonas  would  hurry  along  be- 
hind and  keep  house.  Entirely  occupied  with  his 
kitchen  duties  he  would  move  busily  here  and 
there  or  remain  steadily  behind  or  beside  the  stove 
while  it  pursued  its  onward  way,  and  with  the 
bucket  of  batter  in  his  hand  and  the  griddle 
smoking  and  sizzling,  he  would  seldom  miss  a 
flap.  From  the  standpoint  of  a  weary  cowboy  it 
was  a  beautiful  sight.  It  is,  indeed,  a  pleasant 
thing,  when  you  are  tired  and  hungry,  to  see 
your  supper  thus  coming  along  as  conqueror  over 
space  and  time. 

No  one  but  a  man  like  Jonas,  who  had  the 
combined  talents  of  a  sea-cook  and  a  cowboy, 
could  have  managed  it.  To  make  coffee  under 
such  circumstances  took  considerable  ability,  of 
course.  And  even  the  flapjacks,  which  stayed  on 
the  stove  better,  might  seem  difficult.  Jonas,  how- 
ever, was  a  man  of  quick  hand  and  eye ;  things 
seldom  got  the  drop  on  him,  and  he  handled  the 
pancakes  with  a  revolver  wrist.  As  the  foreman 

215 


The  Wrong  Woman 

said,  he  was  "a  first-class  culinary  engineer."  In 
doing  this,  his  longtime  experience  on  bucking 
bronchos  stood  him  in  good  stead ;  then,  too, 
his  practice  was  confined  almost  entirely  to  pan- 
cakes and  coffee,  for  they  were  but  few  and  simple 
dishes  that  he  knew  by  heart.  But  even  with 
this  special  expertness  it  took  a  quick  man  and 
a  philosopher,  especially  when  the  stove  cut  a 
caper  and  the  footing  was  uneven.  As  Jonas 
once  remarked  when  he  stepped.amiss  on  his  high 
boot-heel  and  spilled  all  the  batter  into  a  buffalo 
wallow,  "  This  is  certainly  a  corrugated  country." 
He  was  not  always  and  necessarily  a  profane  man, 
whatever  one  might  think  who  heard  him  driving 
oxen.  In  times  of  real  trouble  he  expressed  him- 
self coolly  and  then  stuck  to  the  facts. 

For  a  long  time  Jonas  thought  little  of  the 
small  patch  of  prairie  which  belonged  to  him  ; 
he  only  began  to  take  it  seriously  when  he  sold 
twenty  acres  —  a  deal  which  was  consummated 
through  the  agency  of  Stephen  Brown,  senior, 
who  paid  the  taxes  in  his  absence  and  thus  knew, 
generally,  where  Jonas  was.  Coming  back  a  year 
or  two  later  he  was  surprised  to  see  how  that 
place  had  built  up ;  and  when,  after  repeated 

216 


The  Wrong  Woman 

visits,  he  had  made  himself  known  to  all  the 
neighbors  and  discovered  what  nice  people  they 
were,  — it  was  a  new  sensation  for  Jonas  to  have 
neighbors,  —  he  got  it  more  and  more  into  his 
head  that  they  were  bis  neighbors,  and  that  he 
belonged  there.  He  decided  to  settle  down  in 
those  parts.  Things  in  general  seemed  to  be 
shifting  into  a  new  mode  of  life  and  impelling 
him  to  go  along.  In  the  early  eighties,  central 
Texas  was  becoming  tightly  fenced;  the  barb 
wire  was  spreading  out  generally;  railroads  were 
hauling  herds  where  formerly  they  went  afoot ; 
shorthorn  bulls  were  changing  the  face  of  nature; 
it  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  before  a  great  while 
the  long  drives  would  be  a  thing  of  the  past. 
While  there  was  still  use  for  the  cowboy,  there 
was  less  call  for  Jonas's  peculiar  abilities. 

Having  land  which  seemed  to  call  for  a  house, 
he  built  one  on  it ;  but  at  first  he  did  not  occupy 
it  himself.  During  his  absences  it  was  occupied 
by  "  white  "  families  of  the  sort  that  move  often 
by  wagon  and  work  cotton  on  shares  ;  meantime 
his  fancy  was  playing  about  the  place  and  taking 
root.  Coming  back  in  the  fall  the  house  was  va- 
cant. As  Jonas  was  himself  an  excellent  wife  and 

217 


The  Wrong  Woman 

a  kind  husband,  he  moved  in.  Having  in  mind 
to  stop  a  while,  he  of  course  stopped  at  his  own 
house. 

The  problem  of  living  on  one  spot  solved  it- 
self in  the  most  natural  manner.  Instead  of  driv- 
ing cattle  in  the  old  way,  he  conquered  a  few  and 
drove  them  from  the  seat  of  a  plow.  Thus  while 
everything  was  going  forward,  he  mounted  the 
wheel  of  Progress  and  put  his  hand  to  the  throttle ; 
and  now  every  time  he  got  back  from  one  of  his 
occasional  absences  a  new  farm  had  been  opened 
up  forever  and  ever.  But  it  must  not  be  thought 
that  he  had  himself  become  an  agriculturist.  He 
had  not  even  dreamed  of  it.  There  is  not  neces- 
sarily any  more  relation  between  a  "prairie 
buster  "  and  the  land  he  "  busts  "  than  there  is 
between  a  farmer  and  a  locomotive  engineer ;  the 
spirit  of  it  is  different.  Jonas  bossed  cattle. 

If  there  would  seem  to  be  anything  of  incon- 
gruity or  humorous  contrast  between  Jonas  and 
his  married  neighbors,  it  must  be  remembered 
that,  under  the  circumstances  of  a  growing  coun- 
try, there  was  not.  In  a  land  where  many  men 
live  alone  in  shacks  and  do  their  own  work,  and 
where  any  woman's  husband  must  be  able  to  go 
218 


The  Wrong  Woman 

forth  with  a  frying-pan  and  shift  for  himself  at 
times,  it  was  no  marvel  to  see  Jonas  Hicks  doing 
the  same ;  though,  to  be  sure,  he  was  doing  it  a 
.little  nearer  town  than  is  customary,  and  this 
proximity  made  his  single-blessedness  shine  out 
a  little  plainer.  But  if  there  was  any  humor  in 
that,  or  in  fact  anything  else,  it  was  Jonas's  pre- 
rogative to  see  it  first  and  to  stretch  the  joke  as 
far  as  it  would  go.  Then,  too,  he  lived  there  only 
at  intervals  —  which  were  getting  to  cover  the 
greater  part  of  the  time  —  in  the  style  of  a  man 
who  camps  out.  And  after  a  few  days'  absence 
in  "  busting,"  he  would  suddenly  reappear  and 
turn  loose  his  oxen  and  start  up  housekeeping 
with  all  the  new  pleasure  of  a  man  who  is  glad  to 
get  back  among  the  folks  again. 

From  all  of  which  it  will  be  seen  that  Jonas's 
house  needed  to  make  no  apology  for  its  presence; 
he  had  owned  land  there  among  the  first;  it  was 
the  others  who  were  the  innovators  and  the  new- 
comers ;  and  as  to  his  way  of  housekeeping  it  sim- 
ply clung  a  little  closer  to  nature.  It  was,  in  fact, 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  neighborhood. 

As  he  continued  to  live  there  he  liked  it  more 
and  more.  He  was  glad  that  things  turned  out 

219 


The  Wrong  Woman 

just  as  they  did.  His  very  location  in  "the  mid- 
dle of  the  puddle,"  as  Steve  Brown  put  it,  made 
it  look,  to  him,  as  if  all  these  beautiful  women 
and  interesting  little  children  had  gathered  round 
to  ornament  his  position  in  life;  and  there  is  a 
great  deal  in  looks.  He  felt  also,  having  owned 
some  of  the  land  upon  which  the  townspeople 
were  settled,  that  he  was  in  some  manner  respons- 
ible for  it  all;  and  so  he  had  a  corresponding 
pride  in  the  community  at  large  and  was  person- 
ally interested  in  everybody's  welfare. 

His  own  property  he  could  have  sold  or  cul- 
tivated; but  he  was  well  enough  satisfied  with 
things  as  they  were.  He  could  have  put  up  a  sign, 
"keep  off  the  grass"  ;  he  could  have  built  a  fence 
or  forbidden  any  one  to  use  his  place  as  a  short 
cut  to  town;  he  could  have  done  anything  that 
goes  with  private  ownership;  but  with  him  own- 
ership was  not  necessarily  private.  To  a  man 
with  such  large  Texas  views  and  lifelong  experi- 
ence of  "free  grass,"  such  carefulness  of  a  mere 
twenty  acres  would  seem  rather  small,  especially 
small  as  directed  against  such  neighbors.  He  was 
pleased  to  be  numbered  among  them,  and  he  acted 
accordingly.  If  the  minister's  wife  needed  tem- 

220 


The  Wrong  Woman 

porary  pasturage  for  her  real  shorthorn  cow,  just 
arrived  from  the  North,  he  invited  her  to  use  his 
place  permanently;  he  rather  liked  to  see  cows 
around.  If  an  incoming  herd  of  cattle  wished  to 
halt  there  they  were  welcome;  it  reminded  him 
of  old  times.  If  the  whole  surrounding  country 
went  "cross-lots"  over  his  land,  there  was  no  ob- 
jection; what  difference  did  it  make?  And  be- 
sides, it  was  the  farmers  and  ranchmen  who  gave 
him  employment. 

He  would  not  sell  any  land,  though.  Right 
here  was  where  he  exercised  his  private  right.  He 
liked  things  well  enough  as  they  were.  But  when 
the  proposition  came  up  to  purchase  a  small  site 
fora  school-house,  he  presented  them  with  a  small 
piece  off  the  corner,  only  asking  that  they  refrain 
from  putting  a  fence  around  it.  As  this  restric- 
tion was  no  drawback  to  the  community,  they 
readily  acceded  to  it;  consequently  the  children 
played  ball  or  did  whatever  they  pleased  all  over 
the  place,  much  to  his  entertainment.  At  recess 
the  youngsters  spent  much  of  their  time  around 
him,  if  he  were  at  home,  and  though  this  interfered 
considerably  with  his  housework  he  did  not  mind 
the  delay. 

221 


The  Wrong  Woman 

However  difficult  it  might  be  to  name  his  par- 
ticular function  in  the  social  organism,  he  had 
certainly  made  a  place  for  himself;  and  it  was  won- 
derful, as  time  went  on,  how  large  that  place  grew 
to  be.  Any  woman,  when  her  husband  is  away 
from  home,  is  likely  to  face  situations  which  make 
sudden  call  for  a  Man.  In  a  neighborhood  where 
husbands  and  hired  men  were  frequently  away 
at  the  ranch,  this  state  of  affairs  was  always  break- 
ing out  somewhere,  and  Jonas,  occupying  his 
prominent  position  as  next  door  neighbor  to  every- 
body, and  being  naturally  adapted  to  act  in  that 
capacity,  was  always  the  Man.  His  very  geo- 
graphical situation  was  sufficient  to  turn  the  mind 
towards  him,  but  the  particular  reason  for  that 
heliotropism  on  the  part  of  his  feminine  neigh- 
bors was  that  he  was  an  easy  man  for  a  woman 
to  ask.  Being  asked,  he  always  served  her  in  a 
spirit  of  masculine  banter  and  then  went  away  as 
if  he  had  enjoyed  the  joke.  Thus  she  could  be 
grateful  for  his  neighborly  turn  without  feeling 
herself  under  any  painful  state  of  obligation.  Nat- 
urally his  custom  grew.  One  moment  he  would 
be  mending  a  yoke  or  plaiting  a  lash,  the  next 
moment  he  would  be  clapping  himself  on  a  bron- 

222 


The  Wrong  Woman 

cho  to  outdodge  an  escaped  bull,  or  dashing  up 
the  road  to  put  out  a  prairie  fire  before  it  reached 
the  stable;  he  could  lift  a  stove  or  drive  a  nail  or 
spade  up  a  little  place  for  flower  seed;  he  could 
do  any  one  of  these  things  in  about  a  minute  and 
then  have  time  to  sit  down  and  have  a  good 
neighborly  visit.  Possibly  his  familiarity  with  cook- 
stove  affairs  had  brought  him  nearer  to  woman's 
point  of  view.  He  looked  like  a  Texas  Ranger, 
and  was  just  as  generally  useful,  but  in  a  more 
domestic  way.  And  yet  he  had  been  good  with 
a  six-shooter.  So  times  change;  and  men  with 
them. 

Altogether,  he  might  be  best  described  simply 
as  Jonas  Hicks ;  his  position  being  one  that  he 
naturally  fell  into.  And  he  filled  the  position  of 
Jonas  Hicks  the  same  as  if  he  were  a  policeman 
or  a  priest  or  a  fire  department.  In  time  of  trou- 
ble it  was  only  necessary  for  a  woman  to  ask. 
Indeed,  his  trade  with  woman  grew  to  such  pro- 
portions that  he  had  been  obliged,  on  more  than 
one  occasion,  to  cancel  an  engagement  with  a 
man  in  order  that  he  might  do  something  for  his 
wife.  And  he  stated  the  case  in  just  about  that 
way. 

223 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Chivalry  is  not  entirely  a  thing  of  the  past.  It 
is  a  virtue  which  grows  wild  in  Texas.  When 
it  is  domesticated  with  the  ox,  and  pursues  the 
even  tenor  of  everyday  life,  it  is  a  most  useful 
institution. 

With  all  this  talk  of  ours,  it  is  doubtful  if  we 
have  brought  the  oxen  a  mile  on  their  way.  At 
this  point  we  shall  go  on  ahead. 

It  will  be  easy  enough  to  reach  the  next  chap- 
ter before  he  does. 


CHAPTER   X 

REPEATEDLY,  Janet  had  misjudged  her  fellow 
man's  motives  and  had  to  correct  her  theory  of 
him.  It  was,  however,  his  own  fault.  He  had  a 
way  of  going  ahead  without  making  explana- 
tions. He  seemed  deficient  in  that  sort  of  guile 
which  would  prompt  a  man  to  forefend  suspi- 
cion of  his  motives,  or  else  he  did  not  think  it 
necessary,  or,  worse  still,  did  not  care ;  and  so 
his  "  high-handedness,"  as  it  had  at  first  appeared 
to  her,  took  sinister  color  from  her  unusual  situa- 
tion and  his  too  easy  advantage.  Now  she  had 
about  arrived  at  the  comfortable  conclusion  that 
Steve  Brown  was  simply  one  who  saw  what 
ought  to  be  done  and  did  it. 

His  acts  had  a  way  of  doing  their  own  ex- 
plaining, uninterpreted  by  him,  so  that,  as  they 
sorted  together  in  that  prairieful  of  time,  he  be- 
came a  less  difficult  study;  and  by  the  time  she 
had  thus  learned  him  she  found  herself  in  a 
most  comfortable  case.  He  was  really  a  very 
simple  sort  of  man  to  understand,  after  all. 

225 


The  Wrong  Woman 

While  he  had  been  very  alarming  at  first  she  had 
come  to  see  into  his  mental  state,  and  she  liked, 
or  at  least  had  grown  accustomed  to,  his  faults, 

His  lack  of  talkativeness  had  made  the  pro- 
cess seem  rather  slow  at  first,  and  she  had  felc 
that  more  talk  would  have  helped ;  but  now  she 
had  begun  to  think  differently.  She  had  thought 
him  wanting  in  tact,  but  the  fact  of  the  matter 
was  that  he  did  not  need  it.  He  did  better  with- 
out it.  She  reflected,  however,  that  his  qualities 
were  of  the  kind  that  would  easily  remain  undis- 
covered by  other  women.  One  had  to  know  him. 
He  had  been  quite  a  revelation  to  her,  perfectly 
simple.  It  was  no  longer  he  that  seemed  strange 
to  her,  but  rather  the  adventure  itself,  —  espe- 
cially when  she  reflected  that  it  happened  such  a 
little  while  ago.  He  seemed  to  date  back  farther 
than  that;  indeed,  her  knowing  of  him  did  not 
seem  to  be  a  thing  of  any  date  at  all.  And  yet 
he  owed  his  existence,  so  far  as  she  was  con- 
cerned, to  that  mere  chance  and  her  sudden  dash 
out  into  the  distance.  It  is  strange  how  things 
happen. 

What  had  been  his  history  up  to  the  time  that 
had  happened?  This  question  had  passed  across 
226 


The  Wrong  Woman 

her  mind  and  brought  with  it  a  shade  of  doubt; 
but  it  soon  lost  itself  in  his  real  presence ;  he 
was  simply  Steve  Brown. 

She  felt  that  she  knew  him.  And  now,  on  this 
evening,  when  he  had  entertained  her  with  his 
explanation  of  the  ways  of  sheep,  there  came  a 
pause.  After  a  while  he  rose  to  tend  the  fire, 
which  had  burnt  low.  He  scraped  the  embers 
together  and  put  on  the  wood,  and  then,  having 
sat  down  again,  he  told  her,  rather  deliberately, 
that  on  that  day  he  had  caught  her  horse. 

He  had  not  broached  this  subject  during  all 
this  time.  And  at  supper,  before  they  became  so 
interested  in  talking,  there  had  been  plenty  of 
opportunity.  He  went  on  to  explain  that  he  had 
not  caught  the  horse  exactly;  he  had  rather  got 
it  without  the  trouble  of  catching.  The  animal 
had  been  so  willing  to  form  his  acquaintance  that 
it  had  only  been  necessary  to  lay  hold  of  him. 

"  And  where  is  he  now  ?  "   She  was  puzzled. 

"  I  put  him  in  an  old  sheep  corral  near  the 
place  I  got  him.  I  've  been  thinking  I  ought  to 
go  and  get  him  to-night.  That  is,  if  you  are  not 
afraid  to  stay  alone." 

Why  had  he  not  informed  her  of  this  before? 
227 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Would  not  any  one  naturally  have  done  so  ? 
Here  she  was  in  this  place  all  on  account  of  the 
escape  of  her  horse  ;  and  yet  he  had  not  told  her 
about  this.  There  was  something  strange  here. 
Could  it  be  that  he  would  stoop  to  deceit ! 

Janet  immediately  —  what  she  would  not  have 
believed  she  would  do  —  brought  him  to  an  ac- 
counting. 

"  Mr.  Brown,"  she  said  sternly,  "  why  did  you 
not  tell  me  of  this  before  ?  " 

"  Well,  Miss  Janet,  the  point-blank  truth  is 
that  I  thought  I  would  rather  spend  the  evening 
here." 

He  blenched  perceptibly  as  he  said  it.  Janet, 
seeing  him  now  in  a  state  of  mild  propitiation, 
became  suddenly  aware  of  the  schoolmistress  tone 
in  which  she  had  made  him  own  up ;  and  as  he 
considered  what  way  to  answer,  she  was  more  at 
a  loss  than  he  was. 

"  And  besides,"  he  added,  with  more  assur- 
ance, "  I  intended  to  go  for  him  after  you  had  gone 
to  bed  and  say  nothing  about  it.  You  might  be 
afraid  if  you  knew  I  was  not  around  —  though 
there  is  n't  any  danger  of  anything.  But  just  now 
I  got  to  thinking  it  over  and  when  it  came  to  the 
228 


The  Wrong  Woman 

point,  I  did  not  like  to  go  away  without  your 
knowing  it.   I  thought  I  ought  to  tell  you." 

«  Oh  —  that  was  it !  " 

"You  see  I  did  n't  have  any  rope  or  bridle 
along  when  I  caught  him;  so  I  just  put  him  in 
the  corral.  And  I  could  n't  bring  him  home  by 
the  forelock  when  I  had  my  arms  full  of  lambs. 
I  caught  him  just  before  noon.  If  he  waited  till 
I  got  around  to  him  again  in  the  regular  course 
of  herding,  he  would  be  pretty  bad  off  for  a  drink." 

This  statement  of  the  case  decided  her  at  once. 
As  far  as  her  own  needs  were  concerned,  she  could 
not  ride  the  horse  without  a  saddle  even  if  she 
dared  mount  him  again,  which  she  would  not ; 
but  when  she  considered  the  animal's  thirst  she 
decided  to  set  her  night  fears  aside. 

"  No ;  of  course  you  could  not  bring  him  home 
that  way.  If  you  wish  to  go  for  him  I  can  stay 
here.  I  am  not  at  all  afraid." 

"  There  is  n't  really  anything  to  be  afraid  of," 
he  said,  rising.  He  paused  a  moment,  regarding 
her  seriously.  "  I  could  go  for  him  in  the  morn- 
ing before  I  take  the  sheep  out.  But  you  see  I 
would  have  to  start  so  early  that  it  would  still 
be  night  anyway." 

229 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"Oh,  I  shall  not  be  afraid  at  all,  Mr.  Brown. 
There  is  nothing  to  be  afraid  of." 

This  was  how  it  happened  that  Janet,  a  while 
later,  was  sitting  alone  gazing  at  the  North  Star. 
She  was  looking  at  that  star  in  particular  because 
Steve  Brown  had  called  her  attention  to  it  by  way 
of  proving  that  he  would  be  able  to  find  his  way 
back  to  her.  At  intervals  her  eye  let  go  of  the 
star  and  came  back  to  the  fire. 

"  /  thought  I  ought  to  tell  you" 

Why  ought  ?  If  there  was  no  danger  at  all,  and 
he  felt  that  she  would  be  afraid,  why  did  he  change 
his  mind  ?  This  interested  her.  For  a  time  the 
darkness  was  neglected.  Evidently  he  had  planned 
this  and  had  no  doubts.  If  a  woman  is  afraid  to 
be  alone  in  the  dark,  and  there  is  no  danger  at 
all,  the  most  considerate  course  is  to  go  away  when 
she  is  sleeping.  He  had  his  ideas  of  dealing  with 
women.  Why  then  had  he  found  any  difficulty 
in  doing  it  with  her?  "  I  thought  I  ought  to  tell 
you." 

She  had  said  she  would  not  be  the  least  bit 
afraid.  And  so  she  was  not  —  at  first.  Before 
long,  however,  the  Night  insisted  upon  being  seen 
and  heard.  Space  and  darkness  began  to  demand 

230 


The  Wrong  Woman 

human  attention.  Unable  to  do  otherwise,  she 
looked  up  and  contemplated  the  big  blackboard 
of  night,  and  especially  the  North  Star,  to  which 
the  front  stars  of  the  Dipper  served  as  a  pointer. 
And  very  soon  she  was  wholly  engaged  upon  the 
silence. 

It  is  no  small  thing,  if  you  are  not  used  to  it, 
to  occupy  a  lone  prairie  at  night.  You  face  the 
absence  of  the  whole  human  race.  The  ominous 
stillness  centres  upon  you  with  all  the  weight  of 
Past,  Present,  and  Future.  You  are  sitting  up 
with  the  universe.  And  while  you  sit  there, 
and  keep  watch,  you  feel  like  the  last  survivor. 
Night  burns  her  solemn  tapers  over  the  living 
and  the  dead  ;  there  is  now  room  for  anything 
to  happen. 

Suddenly  and  without  warning,  an  awful  out- 
burst of  language  sprang  from  the  very  throat  of 
Night  and  claimed  the  starry  silence  for  its  own. 
It  was  a  clap  of  language  which,  coming  so  un- 
expectedly, seemed  to  make  the  stars  all  blink 
at  once.  Then  fell  a  hush  much  deeper  than  the 
silence  of  before.  There  was  a  moment  of  sus- 
pense ;  then  a  sharp  gunlike  report  which  seemed 
to  crack  the  silence  but  not  to  break  it.  Again 

231 


The  Wrong  Woman 

the  threatening  voice  sounded  —  this  time  nearer 
and  more  violent. 

Janet  sprang  to  her  feet  and  made  for  the 
shack  —  not  forgetting,  fortunately,  the  lamb. 
Being  inside,  she  dropped  the  lamb  on  the  bunk 
and  shut  the  door. 

She  had  noticed  in  the  corner  that  morning  a 
narrow  roof-board  which  might  have  been  used 
to  hold  the  door  shut ;  she  felt  for  it  at  once. 
When  she  had  it  in  her  hands,  at  last,  she  put 
one  end  against  the  door  and  braced  the  other 
end  against  the  wall  opposite  where  it  met  the 
floor.  The  board  was  so  long  that  it  would  not 
go  low  enough  to  catch  securely  against  the  door. 
She  managed,  however,  by  pressing  down  hard 
on  its  middle,  to  spring  it  tightly  into  place. 
There  being  nothing  further  to  be  done,  except 
to  keep  as  still  as  possible  and  hope  for  the  best, 
she  proceeded  to  do  so. 

The  lamb  being  less  discreet,  lifted  its  voice 
and  called  out  for  its  mother.  There  was  an  an- 
swering cry  from  the  corral,  after  which  there 
seemed  to  be  promise  of  quiet.  Janet  held  her 
breath  and  got  what  reassurance  she  could  out 
of  the  fact  that  she  was  surrounded  by  walls, 

232 


The  Wrong  Woman 

between  the  shrunk  boards  of  which  the  glare  of 
the  fire  showed  in  vertical  streaks.  As  it  was 
pitch  dark  inside,  she  could  see  nothing  of  her 
protecting  structure  except  in  so  far  as  it  had  the 
appearance  of  being  a  cage  of  fire. 

The  threatening  voice  advanced  by  stages, 
coming  surely  on.  Presently  she  could  hear  the 
tramp  of  many  feet,  accompanied  by  the  clank- 
ing of  chains.  There  was  a  dull  knocking  of  heavy 
wheels.  There  was  the  sharp  crack  of  the  whip- 
lash again,  a  quicker  trampling  of  hoofs,  a  louder 
sound  of  wheels  and  chains  and  a  still  louder 
vociferation  of  commands.  Janet  could  hardly 
have  felt  less  confidence  in  that  shack  if  it  had 
been  the  heavy  artillery  that  was  coming  into  posi- 
tion—  which  it  sounded  very  much  like.  There 
some  sort  of  evolution  performed  and  a  command 
to  stop ;  then  all  was  silent  again.  For  a  space, 
Janet  heard  nothing. 

Then  a  sound  of  footfalls  told  her  that  he 
was  coming  nearer.  The  door  was  tried.  When 
it  did  not  open  he  pushed  it  harder.  It  gave  a 
little  at  the  top,  but,  to  her  great  relief,  the  brace 
held.  After  a  little  she  heard  his  measured  tramp 
again.  And  again  there  was  silence. 

233 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Janet,  unable  to  endure  the  suspense,  put  her 
eye  to  the  knot-hole.  The  intruder,  a  tall  pirat- 
ical-looking figure,  was  standing  between  her  and 
the  fire ;  she  could  see  his  general  build  in  black. 
From  the  side  of  his  face  there  protruded  a 
terrible  moustache. 

The  man,  after  a  period  of  silent  thought, 
went  and  fetched  some  wood.  He  was  going  to 
take  possession  of  the  fire.  Janet  kept  her  eye 
to  the  knot-hole.  When  he  had  the  fire  burning 
better,  he  straightened  up  and  wandered  round 
to  the  other  side  of  it.  At  this,  the  sinister  silhou- 
ette, acting  as  a  sort  of  dissolving  view,  came  out 
in  favor  of  the  old  maxim  that  "  there  is  a  bright 
side  to  everything."  It  was  no  less  a  person  than 
Jonas  Hicks.  Little  Jimmie  Wanger's  "  Misser 
Donas ! " 

"  Misser  Donas  dimme  pop,"  —  Janet's  mind 
took  a  jump  to  this.  Morning  and  night  she  had 
heard  the  sentence  reiterated  by  the  diminutive 
Jimmie,  the  interpretation  of  which  was,  accord- 
ing to  Rosie,  that  Mr.  Hicks  had  at  one  time 
presented  Jimmie  with  a  ball  of  pop-corn.  It  was 
the  only  sentence  Jimmie's  mind  cared  to  com- 
municate. As  it  was  the  only  thing  in  life  worth 

234 


The  Wrong  Woman 

mentioning,  he  brought  it  out  upon  every  occa- 
sion; thus  it  had  become  recorded  on  her  mind 
with  phonographic  unforgettableness,  and  when 
she  saw  Mr.  Hicks  through  the  knot-hole  his 
act  of  benevolence  repeated  itself  in  the  same 
words.  The  sight  of  this  benefactor  in  the  guise 
of  a  cursing  desperado  made  a  clash  among  the 
ideas  in  her  mind;  but  Jimmie's  sentence  came 
out  on  top. 

Besides  hearing  about  him  in  this  way,  she  had 
once  had  the  honor  of  meeting  Mr.  Hicks  him- 
self—  this  time  also  in  connection  with  his  lean- 
ing toward  children.  He  stopped  at  her  school- 
yard pump  for  a  drink,  and  having  taken  it  he 
put  his  head  in  at  the  door  and  smiled  —  a  thing 
he  never  did  upon  compulsion.  Being  invited  to 
enter,  he  did  so,  taking  the  visitors'  chair  near 
the  rostrum;  and  when  she  asked  him,  according 
to  the  time-honored  custom,  whether  he  would 
not  like  to  address  a  few  words  to  the  school,  he 
did  that  also,  standing  his  whip  up  in  the  corner 
and  giving  some  very  engaging  advice  upon  the 
subject  of  education,  part  of  which,  being  of  a 
hidden  nature,  was  evidently  intended  for  the 
entertainment  of  the  teacher.  In  this  way  he  had 

235 


The  Wrong  Woman 

been  her  one  and  only  visitor;  and  then,  having 
had  his  jocose  presence  so  repeatedly  called  to 
mind  at  the  Wangers',  she  had  become  disabled 
to  think  of  him  as  anything  but  the  ministering 
angel  of  pop-corn. 

Now  her  sole  concern  was  to  put  in  her 
appearance  in  as  graceful  a  manner  as  possible. 
Whatever  sort  of  man  he  might  really  be,  she 
knew  he  was  a  person  of  quick  intelligence  who 
would  certainly  see  any  indications  of  her  taking 
fright  at  him.  She  wished  to  emerge  at  once, 
smoothly  and  naturally.  But  when  she  put  her 
hands  to  the  tight  roofing-board  she  discovered 
that  there  was  going  to  be  difficulty  in  the  opera- 
tion. 

At  first  she  tried  to  lift  it  by  taking  hold  near 
the  middle.  As  the  board  had  been  bent  down 
by  her  pressing  it  into  place,  her  lifting  only  made 
it  grip  tighter.  It  resisted  her  best  efforts. 
Once  and  again  she  tried,  but  without  success ; 
it  was  beyond  her  strength.  She  could  not  get 
out! 

"Oh,  dear,"  breathed  Janet  in  dismay. 

She  tried  to  force  it  out  sideways.  But  this 
was  even  less  practicable  if  anything.  Perceiving 

236 


The  Wrong  Woman 

finally  the  nature  of  her  mechanical  difficulty, 
she  turned  with  new  hopes  to  the  end  that  was 
against  the  door.  As  she  expected,  this  proved  to 
be  the  proper  place  to  take  hold;  but  now  the 
board  moved  only  to  make  a  noise  that  was  amaz- 
ing. The  method  of  its  surprising  operation  was 
like  the  stuttering  of  a  stick  when  it  is  rubbed 
endwise  on  a  box;  but  as  this  was  a  board  and 
as  it  operated  against  a  rumbly  shack,  it  rever- 
berated like  a  giant  drum ;  it  was  an  excellent 
apparatus  for  making  artificial  thunder.  At  her 
very  first  effort  it  gave  a  little  jump  and  made  a 
noise  sufficient  to  put  all  the  silence  on  the  prai- 
rie to  flight.  She  let  go  at  once.  More  deliberate 
efforts  brought  forth  results  still  more  tremend- 
ous; it  was  something  between  a  volley  and  a 
groan. 

Now  that  she  had  done  what  she  had,  she  felt 
that,  embarrassing  as  it  was,  she  might  as  well 
get  through  with  it  and  show  herself  promptly. 
She  might  as  well  make  the  noise  all  at  once  as 
to  make  it  piecemeal. 

It  was  like  operating  a gatling  gun.  The  board, 
being  sprung  down,  had  a  considerable  distance 
to  move  before  it  would  come  free,  but  Janet, 

237 


The  Wrong  Woman 

having  put  her  hands  to  it,  stuck  to  it  without 
flinching.  It  set  the  whole  shack  a-going;  those 
boards  made  such  a  noise  as  they  had  not  made 
since  the  day  they  went  through  the  sawmill  in 
long-drawn  agony.  But  she  got  it  free.  Being 
through  with  it,  she  set  the  board  softly  in  the 
corner;  then  she  calmed  herself  and  stepped 
forth. 

So  far  as  Janet  could  see,  he  considered  it  the 
most  natural  meeting  in  the  world.  Jonas  Hicks, 
fortunately,  was  not  easily  confused.  She  lost  no 
time,  however,  in  beginning  her  explanation. 

"You  see,  Mr.  Hicks,  I  was  going  on  horse- 
back from  Wanger's  farm  up  to  the  county-seat 
to  take  the  examination,  and  just  as  I  was  pass- 
ing here  —  " 

Poor  Janet ;  she  had  to  tell  that  whole  story 
over  again.  She  told  it  with  particular  attention 
to  plausible  detail ;  she  wanted  him  to  have  a 
perfect  understanding  of  just  how  it  was. 

"Oh,  yes — just  so  —  I  see,"  he  would  say 
promptly.  "  You  just  got  lost  on  the  prairie. 
And  you  've  been  stopping  a  few  days  with 
Steve." 

As  if  it  were  nothing!  Such  ready  belief  and 
238 


The  Wrong  Woman 

general  inconsequentiality  bothered  Janet.  She 
did  not  know,  of  course,  that  Jonas  was  hardly 
the  sort  of  a  Texan  to  feel  comfortable  in  having 
a  woman  stand  before  him  in  the  defensive,  stat- 
ing her  case.  Upon  her  first  appearance  he  had 
concealed  his  surprise  and  rallied  nobly  to  the 
courtesies  of  the  occasion  ;  it  was  sufficient  that 
he  was  in  the  presence  of  the  fair.  Having  heard 
enough  to  get  the  facts  of  her  adventure  and 
grasp  her  present  situation,  it  was  hardly  in  him 
to  play  the  part  of  the  unconvinced  and  give  her 
a  hearing  through  the  corroborating  details  —  it 
was  too  inquisitorial  for  him.  Suspicion  ?  He 
would  have  felt  vitally  impeached.  He  could 
not  stand  judicially ;  he  would  have  knocked 
down  the  man  that  did  it.  For  this  reason,  while 
he  manifested  sufficient  interest,  he  escaped  from 
his  position  by  finding  casual  employment;  he 
examined  the  skillet,  looked  into  the  provision 
box,  and  presently  set  about  getting  his  supper, 
which,  he  insisted,  he  was  perfectly  capable  of 
doing.  Janet  persevered  with  her  story.  He  kept 
up  his  interest,  making  a  mere  anecdote  out  of 
her  tale  and  mitigating  the  atmosphere  with  the 
sound  of  pots  and  kettles. 

239 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  Well,  now  ;  if  that  don't  beat  all  —  Natur- 
ally—  Just  what  would  happen  — "  Such  was 
the  tenor  of  his  remarks.  As  if  nothing  more 
need  really  be  said. 

To  Janet,  his  too  ready  acceptance  was  pecu- 
liarly unsatisfying. 

"And  then,"  he  remarked,  just  as  she  was 
coming  to  it,  "  I  bet  you  walked  right  round  in 
a  circle." 

She  wished  most  heartily  that  she  could  have 
replied,  "  Oh,  no,"  and  explained  that  that  was  n't 
the  way  of  it  at  all.  She  felt  that  her  whole  story 
must  seem  to  him  an  easily  concocted,  and  a 
merely  necessary  fiction.  But  as  that  was  exactly 
what  did  happen  she  had  to  accept  this  part  of 
it  from  him  and  do  her  best  with  other  details. 
She  wished  he  would  pay  more  strict  attention. 

"And  so,"  she  finally  ended,  "as  Mr.  Brown 
went  away  just  a  while  ago  to  get  my  horse,  I 
was  rather  frightened  when  I  heard  somebody 
coming.  I  suppose  I  surprised  you  too." 

"  Well,  yes  ;  I  must  say  you  did,  sort  of.  But 
of  course  when  I  heard  that  noise  I  knew  some- 
thing was  bound  to  come  of  it.  But  I  managed 
to  save  my  appetite." 

240 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  There  is  n't  very  much  left  to  eat,"  she  said 
seriously. 

"  Oh,  I  've  got  a  plenty  to  eat  right  there  in 
my  wagon.  Pie  is  good  enough  for  anybody. 
I  've  got  a  real  Northern  pie." 

He  made  a  trip  to  the  wagon  and  came  back 
with  the  pie.  He  placed  the  pie  in  the  middle  of 
the  repast  and  arranged  knife  and  fork  on  their 
respective  sides  of  it.  Having  it  properly  dis- 
posed and  everything  in  readiness  he  invited  her 
to  join  him.  Janet,  because  she  had  had  supper, 
was  inclined  to  refuse.  But  there  is  something 
cordial  about  a  pie's  countenance,  especially  if  it 
be  a  pie  of  one's  own  country,  and  still  more  es- 
pecially if  one  has  been  living  regularly  onfrijole 
beans.  She  cut  her  regrets  short  and  accepted.  It 
seemed  to  her,  though,  that  all  human  compan- 
ionship was  being  rather  strictly  confined  to  the 
process  of  eating. 

Plainly  he  considered  her  the  guest ;  he  took 
her  cup  and  poured  the  coffee  himself. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  evening,  isn't  it,"  remarked 
Janet. 

"  I  was  just  going  to  say  it  was  a  nice  night. 
Quite  a  flock  of  stars  out." 

241 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  A  flock,  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  Well,  sort  of.  I  don't  usually  speak  of  them 
that  way.  Only  on  special  occasions.  Has  n't 
Steve  got  any  sweetenin'  ? " 

He  had  just  rattled  the  spoon  in  the  sugar 
bowl  and  found  it  empty.  Janet  was  sorry  to  say 
that  she  had  poured  out  the  last  grain  of  it  that 
very  evening.  She  explained  to  him  how  the 
lamb  had  stepped  into  a  bowlful  and  thus  con- 
tributed to  the  present  shortage. 

"  Ain't  Steve  got  a  jug  of  molasses  ?  He  ought 
to  have  some  sweetenin'  somewheres." 

"  Why,  I  did  see  a  jug  of  something  under  the 
bed.  I  don't  know  what  is  in  it,  though." 

He  went  to  investigate,  getting  down  on  the 
door-sill  and  entering  the  shack  on  his  knees. 
Presently  he  reappeared,  smelling  the  cork. 

"  It  ain't  anything  more  or  less  than  molas- 
ses," he  reported. 

As  he  sat  down,  the  off  wheeler  of  the  team, 
which  had  been  drawn  up  a  short  distance  from 
the  fire,  dropped  on  his  paunch  with  a  great  rat- 
tling of  chain  and  began  placidly  chewing  his  cud. 
Following  his  example,  an  ox  in  the  middle  of 
the  string  got  down  on  his  knees  and  began 

242 


The  Wrong  Woman 

chewing.  At  the  same  moment  the  lamb,  which 
had  fallen  out  of  bed  and  found  his  way  out  of 
the  shack,  announced  himself  with  a  bleat  and 
went  toddling  off  toward  the  darkness.  Janet 
jumped  up  at  once  and  went  after  him.  Having 
captured  him,  she  brought  him  back  and  stowed 
him  comfortably  in  her  lap,  drawing  the  edge  of 
her  skirt  up  over  him. 

"I  suppose  you've  noticed,  Miss  Janet,"  he 
remarked,  as  he  again  turned  his  attention  to  the 
jug,  "  that  the  animals  out  in  these  parts  don't 
know  very  much.  They  make  people  lots  of 
trouble." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  the  trouble  at  all.  You  see, 
I  saved  this  one's  life  myself;  that's  why  I  am 
so  interested  in  caring  for  him.  He  's  an  orphan." 

"So  I  see.  There's  liable  to  be  plenty  of 
them.  Are  you  partial  to  orphans?" 

"I  could  hardly  help  caring  for  him.  Of 
course  one  naturally  is." 

Jonas  again  turned  his  attention  to  the  jug, 
removing  the  cork  and  placing  it  upside  down 
on  the  ground.  Janet  held  a  saucer  to  receive 
her  share.  The  molasses  was  slow  about  making 
its  appearance. 

243 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  This  Golden  Drip  is  a  little  late  about  com- 
ing. It's  as  stubborn  as  old  Doc  Wharton  used 
to  be." 

"Was  he  stubborn?"  Janet  asked,  keeping 
the  saucer  level. 

"  He  wasn't  much  of  anything  else.  He  was 
so  stubborn  that  when  he  drowned  in  the  Co- 
manche  he  floated  upstream." 

"Really?" 

"Wasn't  any  doubt  about  it.  Some  people 
said  that  his  foot  must  'a'  been  caught  in  the 
stirrup  and  the  horse  dragged  him  up  that  far 
from  where  he  went  in.  But  I  always  claimed  it 
was  just  natural." 

As  the  molasses  had  not  yet  responded,  he 
up-ended  the  jug  still  farther  and  waited  for 
results. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  queried,  "  that  Steve  has  told 
you  about  things  down  home.  And  all  about  his 
mother?" 

"  He  told  me  that  he  lost  his  mother  last 
winter." 

"Ye-e-e-es,"  he  said  reflectively,  drawing  the 
word  out  as  a  thick  sluggish  stream  began  to 
pile  up  in  the  saucer. 

244 


The  Wrong  Woman 

When  she  exclaimed  "  enough,"  he  lowered  the 
bottom  of  the  jug  and  kept  the  mouth  over  the 
saucer  as  the  molasses  continued  to  run  from  it. 

"You  can't  stop  that  stuff  by  saying  Wo"  he 
remarked,  whirling  the  jug  in  his  hands  to  stop 
the  flow  from  the  lip.  "It  is  n't  as  thick,  though, 
as  some  that  I  've  seen." 

"  No  !  " 

"  I  don't  suppose  Steve  told  you  about  the  mo- 
lasses I  had  with  the  *  J.  K.'  outfit  one  winter." 

"No,  he  did  n't  tell  me  anything  about  it." 

"Well,  that  molasses  was  so  thick  that  when 
you  got  too  much  on  a  flapjack,  all  you  had  to 
do  was  to  give  the  jug  a  few  turns  and  wind 
the  molasses  right  up  into  it  again.  You  could 
wrap  it  around  the  neck  of  the  jug  till  next  time 
if  you  wanted  to.  If  you  '11  just  excuse  me  a  mo- 
ment, Miss  Janet,  I  '11  put  this  jug  back  in  home, 
sweet  home,  again." 

When  he  had  put  it  where  he  found  it,  under 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  he  returned  to  his  place  and 
passed  the  flapjacks.  He  insisted  that  she  try  one 
at  least. 

"So  he  told  you  about  his  mother.  And  maybe 
about  his  house  ?" 

245 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"He  did  n't  tell  me  much  about  his  house  — 
just  about  his  mother.  He  showed  me  the  clip- 
ping about  her.  He  did  n't  tell  me  anything  in 
particular  about  her." 

"  Well,  that 's  all  the  same.  Just  the  same  as 
if  he  told  you." 

Janet  sampled  the  pancake  and  complimented 
him  upon  his  cooking,  in  return  for  which  he 
told  her  his  recipe,  which  could  be  varied  with 
water  "  according  to  taste."  There  came  a  pause 
in  which  Mr.  Hicks  seemed  to  be  thinking. 

"  Can  you  play  the  piano  ?  "   he  asked. 

"  I  can  play  some,"  answered  Janet.  "  But  I 
am  a  little  out  of  practice  lately." 

"  You  'd  soon  enough  pick  that  up,  as  long  as 
you  know  how." 

The  first  lot  of  pancakes  having  dwindled,  he 
got  up  and  put  on  the  remainder  of  the  batter. 

As  Janet  declined  his  offer  of  more,  he  insisted 
that  she  start  on  the  pie. 

"  Are  you  fond  of  piano  music  ?  "  she  inquired 
as  he  sat  down. 

"  Most  any  kind  suits  me.  I  suppose  you  can 
play  most  any  kind  of  a  tune." 

"  Yes,  mostly.  As  I  say,  I  am  a  little  out  of 
246 


The  Wrong  Woman 

practice  lately.  But  my  music  always  comes  back 
to  me  suddenly  after  a  day  or  two." 

"  Steve  has  a  piano,"  he  said. 

There  came  a  hiatus  in  the  conversation.  Janet 
applied  herself  to  the  pie. 

"Mr.  Hicks,"  she  said  suddenly,  "I  should 
think  Mr.  Brown  would  hardly  choose  to  come 
out  here  and  do  a  sheep-herder's  work.  Espe- 
cially as  I  understand  he  does  n't  really  have  to." 

"  Well,  it  would  seem  that  way,  looking  at  it 
from  this  end.  It 's  a  little  lonesome  out  here 
when  there  is  n't  anybody  around.  But  down 
home  there  is  n't  anybody  around  his  house,  and 
that 's  lonesomer  still.  There  a  person  would 
notice  it;  but  you  don't  expect  anything  else  of 
a  shack.  I  don't  suppose  he  has  been  on  the  in- 
side of  that  house  more  than  once  in  two  or 
three  weeks." 

"  And  yet  he  lives  there  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  Gets  along  good,  too,  as  far  as  that 
goes.  He  washes  the  dishes  on  the  porch  and 
hangs  the  pan  up  outside.  I  guess  he  borrowed 
some  of  his  style  from  me.  Steve  would  make  a 
pretty  good  Ranger  yet ;  he  has  n't  got  spoiled. 
But  his  ma  told  him  he  must  n't  ever  join  them." 
247 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  Why/'  exclaimed  Janet,  "  does  be  think  of 
joining  the  Rangers  ? " 

"Oh,  no  —  not  now.  I  don't  suppose  he  ever 
thinks  of  such  an  idea.  He  's  got  too  many  other 
things  to  tend  to,  anyway." 

"  Then,  why  should  she  tell  him  that  ?  " 
"That  was  just  an  idea  she  had.  When  he 
was  a  young  fellow  about  eighteen  or  nineteen  he 
had  an  idea  of  being  a  Ranger,  and  he  gave  her 
considerable  worry,  I  guess.  Steve  was  like  his 
father  was,  and  she  was  always  watching  over  him 
to  see  that  he  did  n't  get  into  danger.  Steve's  ma 
was  hardly  more  than  up  to  his  elbow.  She 
looked  like  a  little  girl  alongside  of  him.  She 
had  real  white  hair." 

"  He  must  have  been  very  fond  of  his  mother." 
"  Thought  as  much  of  her  as  if  he  had  picked 
her  out  himself.  But  as  I  was  going  to  tell  — 
Towards  the  last  when  she  was  down  sick  and 
pretty  near  faded  out,  she  seemed  to  think  he 
was  n't  any  more  than  a  little  boy  that  had  just 
grown  up  big.  She  always  did  seem  to  have 
pretty  much  that  idea  anyway ;  and  he  never  let 
on  but  what  he  was.  As  long  as  he  fetched  and 
carried  for  her,  and  never  got  into  any  danger 
248 


The  Wrong  Woman 

except  when  he  kept  it  secret,  I  don't  suppose 
she  ever  exactly  noticed  when  he  did  grow  up. 
And  when  she  died  you  could  see  that  she  was 
worried  about  what  would  become  of  him. 
I  went  for  the  doctor  when  she  died.  Steve 
got  out  a  fast  horse  and  I  made  some  pretty 
quick  time.  When  I  got  the  doctor  to  the  house 
I  went  into  the  room  with  him ;  and  you  could 
see  she  wasn't  going  to  hold  out  much  longer. 
She  seemed  to  know  it  too.  The  last  thing  she 
said  that  night  was, c  Good-bye,  Stevie ;  don't  go 
and  join  the  Rangers.' ' 

"And  what  did  he  say?  " 

"  He  told  her  he  would  n't — just  as  honest  as 
if  it  was  all  so.  That  satisfied  her  and  she  shut  her 
eyes  again,  and  that  was  the  way  she  went.  '  Good- 
bye, Stevie,  don't  go  and  join  the  Rangers. 

"  He  did  n't  usually  tell  her  everything  ?  " 
said  Janet  reflectively. 

"  Not  till  he  saw  fit.  Old  Steve  was  pretty 
much  the  same  way.  If  it  was  anything  she  'd 
worry  about,  he  'd  do  it  first.  Then  sometime 
when  it  was  all  over,  he  'd  let  the  cat  out  of  the 
bag.  The  old  man  sort  of  spoiled  her;  and  Steve 
just  naturally  took  hold  the  same  way." 
249 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"  They  always  did  tell  her,  then  ?  " 

"  Sooner  or  later." 

"  He  struck  me  as  a  man  that  was — rather 
fond  of  his  mother." 

"  He  thought  she  could  n't  be  beat.  She  pretty 
near  run  him  and  old  Steve ;  they  were  two  of 
a  kind.  They  would  n't  'a'  dared  to  do  anything 
if  she  was  against  it.  I  guess  that  was  the  reason 
they  went  ahead  on  their  own  hook  on  anything 
she  might  worry  about.  They  were  afraid  she  'd 
say  no,  I  guess." 

"  Then  she  really  did  have  something  to  say, 
after  all,  "  suggested  Janet. 

"She  twisted  them  around  her  ringer  pretty 
much  as  it  was.  And  that 's  where  Steve  misses 
her.  He's  used  to  being  run.  He's  lost.  About 
a  week  after  she  was  buried  he  took  her  picture 
down  out  of  the  parlor  and  hung  it  up  nearer  the 
kitchen  where  he  could  see  it  every  day." 

"But,"  exclaimed  Janet, "I  thought  you  said 
he  hardly  ever  went  into  the  house ! " 

Jonas  took  a  moment  for  consideration.  Then 
he  put  his  hand  to  his  hip  pocket  and  felt  around 
in  it.  Not  rinding  what  he  was  looking  for,  and  be- 
ing evidently  at  a  loss,  he  cast  his  eyes  about  on 

250 


The  Wrong  Woman 

the  vacant  ground.  Presently  his  eye  lit  on  Janet's 
yellow  oil-coat.  He  reached  out  and  took  it,  and 
having  folded  it  somewhat  like  a  cushion,  so  that 
its  back  presented  a  smooth  surface,  he  again 
made  search  of  his  various  pockets.  When  he  had 
hunted  down  the  elusive  lead-pencil  he  moistened 
it  on  his  tongue  and  set  to  work  deliberately  to 
draw  on  the  slicker.  The  result  of  his  work  was 
simply  a  square. 

"That,"  he  said,  "is  Steve's  house." 

Moistening  the  pencil  again,  he  drew  another 
square,  somewhat  smaller,  so  that  it  just  touched 
the  other  square  corner  to  corner. 

"That's  the  kitchen,"  he  explained. 

Again  he  drew  a  square;  this  one  touching 
corners  with  the  kitchen  so  that  it  faced  the  side 
of  the  house. 

"  That 's  the  milk-house,"  he  said. 

The  three  squares,  one  large  and  two  smaller 
ones,  being  thus  joined  at  the  corners,  made  a 
space  between  them.  This  space,  surrounded  on 
but  three  sides,  seemed  to  be  open  towards  the 
road. 

"Now,  this  place  in  between  here,"  began 
Jonas,  "is  out  of  doors.  But  it  ain't  really  out 

251 


The  Wrong  Woman 

of  doors  at  all,  because  it  has  got  a  roof  on  it  and 
has  a  floor.  It  ain't  a  room  exactly  nor  it  ain't  a 
porch.  It 's  a  sort  of  an  inside  porch  or  an  out- 
side room.  Now,  the  open  side  of  this  place  faces 
the  road ;  but  it  is  n't  open  to  the  road  at  all, 
because  there  is  a  lattice-work  there  covered  with 
vines.  This  lattice  " —  he  wet  the  pencil  and  set 
it  to  work  again  —  "  this  lattice  that  closes  this 
place  runs  out  from  the  side  of  the  house,  but  it 
does  n't  join  to  the  corner  of  the  milk-house,  be- 
cause you  see  that  would  close  this  place  all  up 
so  that  you  could  n't  come  in  from  outside.  It 
comes  a  distance  away  from  the  corner  of  the 
milk-house ;  and  that  makes  a  door  so  that  you 
can  go  out  into  the  yard  without  going  through 
the  kitchen.  So  you  see,  you  can  go  into  this  in- 
side place  without  going  through  the  house  at 
all." 

Janet  drew  closer,  the  better  to  study  the 
plan. 

"  Yes ;  I  see  how  that  is,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  now,"  he  continued, "  these  three  parts 
of  the  house  have  each  got  a  door  opening  into 
this  inside  place  —  the  dining-room  door,  and  the 
kitchen  door,  and  the  milk-house  door.  And  right 

252 


The  Wrong  Woman 

here  beside  the  dining-room  door  is  a  bench  where 
Steve  washes  up,  and  a  looking-glass.  And  right 
on  the  other  side  of  this  door  is  where  he  hung 
her  picture.  That 's  how  it  is  that  he  hardly  ever 
goes  into  the  house  at  all  and  he  's  got  her  pict- 
ure right  in  there  where  he  does  his  work.  He 
cooks  some  in  Aunt  Lucy's  kitchen,  and  eats  and 
sets  here.  Aunt  Lucy  has  got  a  new  place  to 
work." 

"  I  understand  perfectly  well  now  what  you 
meant,  Mr.  Hicks.  It  is  perfectly  plain." 

She  had  rather  awkwardly  accused  him  of  get- 
ting his  tale  tangled ;  and  now  that  he  suddenly 
brought  the  whole  weight  of  this  explanation  to 
bear  upon  the  point  at  issue,  she  felt  a  new  strik- 
ing-in  of  her  shame.  She  hoped  that  if  there  was 
to  be  any  further  explanation  it  would  not  be  in 
this  particular  connection. 

"  Now,"  said  Jonas,  wetting  his  pencil  and 
setting  to  work  on  the  interior  of  the  house, 
"  right  here  in  the  main  house  is  a  long  dining- 
room.  And  a  hall  runs  from  this  dining-room 
right  straight  through  onto  the  front  porch.  You 
can  set  right  here  at  the  head  of  the  table  and  eat 
and  see  everything  that  is  passing  on  the  road. 

253 


The  Wrong  Woman 

And  there  is  a  cool  draught  right  through.  Off 
to  the  right  of  this  hall  is  the  parlor." 

Jonas  wetted  the  pencil  unusually  and  worked 
it  busily  in  the  corner  of  the  parlor  till  he  had 
made  a  very  black  and  shiny  little  square.  Janet 
leaned  farther  over  to  watch  him. 

"  And  this  here,"  he  announced, "  is  the  piano." 

Janet  resumed  her  erect  position. 

"  It  is  a  very  convenient  house  in  some  ways," 
she  said.  "It  has  certain  advantages  for  a  warm 
climate." 

"  It 's  all  figured  out,"  said  Jonas. 

He  made  a  dot  by  holding  the  pencil  straight 
down  and  twirling  it  round.  This  was  about  the 
middle  of  the  "  inside  place."  Janet  leaned  over 
and  became  interested  again. 

"Now,"  he  continued,  "suppose  it  is  a  rainy 
day.  Right  here  in  the  middle  of  this  inside  place 
is  a  chain  pump.  You  don't  have  to  go  outside 
for  anything.  Or  suppose  it  is  a  hot  day.  And 
maybe  there  is  a  big  company  dinner  to  get.  You 
can  set  here  by  the  lattice  where  it  is  cool  and 
breezy,  —  the  Gulf  breeze  comes  right  in  that 
place  by  the  milk-house,  —  and  keep  track  of 
what's  going  on  in  the  kitchen.  You  don't  have 

254 


The  Wrong  Woman 

to  go  right  into  the  kitchen  once  in  a  week  if  you 
don't  want  to.  But  it 's  a  good  thing  to  keep  an 
eye  on  Aunt  Lucy  or  the  best  of  them.  They  're 
likely  to  hand  out  half  of  the  provisions  to  the 
rest  of  the  niggers.  You  see  it 's  fixed  so  that  it 
don't  make  any  difference  whether  it 's  rainy  or 
hot,  or  whether  you  've  got  company  clothes  on 
or  not.  You  can  set  right  here  with  your  knitting 
and  see  into  the  kitchen  or  out  to  the  road  —  but 
people  going  past  on  the  road  can't  see  you." 

"  It  is  an  outside  kitchen  without  the  disad- 
vantages of  a  separate  building,  is  n't  it !  And  it 
looks  like  a  part  of  the  house,  too." 

"So  does  the  milk-house.  When  you  come 
out  of  the  side  door  of  the  dining-room  the  milk- 
house  is  right  in  front  of  you.  And  to  your 
right  is  the  kitchen  door.  Everything 's  handy. 
Old  Steve  used  to  be  a  great  hand  for  company. 
And  I  guess  Steve  B.  is  likely  to  turn  out  just 
as  bad.  So  you  see  these  are  all  three  joined  at 
the  corners  and  this  place  between  is  all  floored 
and  roofed  over,  and  there  is  a  lattice  and  vines 
where  you  can  see  out  onto  the  road.  And  it's 
nice  and  cool.  You  can  set  right  here  in  the 
shade  and  tend  to  everything." 

255 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Having  submitted  the  plans  to  her  contem- 
plation awhile  Jonas  withdrew  the  slicker  as  if 
he  were  considering  any  possible  improvements. 

Janet,  being  tired  by  her  constrained  position 
in  viewing  the  work,  —  for  she  had  not  moved 
entirely  round  to  his  side  of  the  supper, — 
straightened  up  and  spent  the  interval  in  a  new 
survey  of  the  stars.  It  rested  her  neck.  As  on 
the  previous  nights  it  was  clear  and  spacious. 
There  were  stars  and  stars.  The  biggest  and 
brightest  stood  out  in  unison ;  in  between  them 
and  hanging  far  off  in  space  were  so  many  others 
that  all  confusion  seemed  straightened  out  in 
the  unity  of  the  infinite.  It  was  all  very  beauti- 
ful —  heaven  is  not  disorder,  after  all.  And  yet 
a  coyote,  complaining  in  the  distance,  seemed  to 
set  the  world  to  a  false  note.  Her  mind  seemed 
tangled  in  light  as  her  eye,  following  the  stars, 
was  led  along  the  devious  invisible  lines  from 
one  to  another.  She  had  a  feeling  as  if  she  would 
like  to  look  up  the  definition  of  "you"  in  the 
dictionary. 

When  she  came  back  to  earth  again,  Jonas 
was  sitting  there  awaiting  her  return.  One  would 
almost  think  he  was  waiting  for  an  answer. 

256 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Janet  looked  at  her  watch.  It  was  twenty 
minutes  after  ten  —  but  she  did  not  know  whether 
it  was  right  or  not. 

"  I  hope  I  have  n't  been  keeping  you  up,  Miss 
Janet,"  said  Jonas.  "  Whenever  your  time  comes 
to  turn  in,  go  right  along.  Don't  consider  me 
company." 

"Oh,  it  was  n't  that ;  I  was  just  wondering 
what  time  it  is.  Do  you  suppose,  Mr.  Hicks, 
that  he  will  have  any  difficulty  finding  that  horse 
and  getting  it  back  here  ?  I  should  think  he 
would  get  lost." 

"  How  long  has  he  been  gone  ? " 

"  A  little  over  an  hour." 

"  Oh,  that  ain't  bad.  You  can't  lose  Steve." 

"  No,  of  course  not.  I  thought  it  was  longer." 

"  What  time  is  it  ?  " 

"  Twenty  minutes  after  ten  by  my  watch. 
But  I  don't  really  know  what  time  it  is." 

"  Well,  there  ain't  much  use  knowin'.  Time 
is  queer  anyway  on  a  prairie.  Sometimes  it  takes 
a  considerable  while  for  it  to  go  past.  And  then 
again,  as  the  other  fellow  said,  '  Time  is  shorter 
than  it  is  long.'  Maybe  if  you  are  sleepy  you  'd 
better  go  to  bed." 

257 


The  Wrong  Woman 

"Well  —  I  believe  I  will.  I  don't  suppose 
I  had  better  wait  any  longer.  Will  you  find  a 
place  to  sleep  ?  Maybe  you  will  want  to  use  my 
slicker." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  all  right.  I  '11  just  chase  away  these 
cattle  and  roll  in  under  the  wagon.  And  if  you 
should  hear  me  serrynadin'  you  with  a  horse- 
fiddle  after  a  while,  don't  be  scared.  That 's  me 
snoring.  I  'm  what  they  call  a  sound  sleeper." 

"  Good-night,  Mr.  Hicks." 

"  Same  to  you,  Miss  Janet." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  sun,  lifting  his  countenance  above  the 
horizon  that  morning,  centred  his  whole  atten- 
tion upon  a  pair  of  polished  brass-bound  hubs. 
The  rest  of  the  scene,  grass  and  flowers  "  in  un- 
respective  same,"  formed  a  mere  background 
on  the  general  plane  of  existence  while  the  sun 
beamed  upon  the  brass  —  delighted,  no  doubt, 
to  find  an  affinity  in  this  unexpected  place. 

We  accentuate  the  detail  slightly,  our  reason 
being  that  Janet,  whenever  she  had  occasion  to 
tell  how  it  all  happened,  was  sure  to  make  mention 
of  the  brass  hubs.  Unconscious  as  she  may  have 
been  of  it  at  the  time,  the  hubs  commanded  the 
scene  and  formed  the  shining  high-light  of  mem- 
ory's picture  ;  and  as  the  years  passed  they  took 
on  a  still  brighter  polish. 

The  hubs  belonged  to  a  snug-looking  Rocka- 
way  buggy.  Hitched  to  the  buggy  was  her  own 
horse,  which  was  tied  to  a  post  of  the  corral. 
The  gate  of  the  corral  was  open  and  the  sheep 
were  gone.  Jonas's  outfit  was  gone  too ;  there 
was  nobody  in  sight. 

259 


The  Wrong  Woman 

As  she  stood  looking  and  wondering,  Steve 
emerged  from  the  gully ;  and  having  saluted  her 
in  his  usual  manner  he  began  to  explain  to  her 
how  the  change  was  wrought.  When  he  returned 
late  that  night  and  found  that  Jonas  Hicks  was 
in  charge,  he  saw  his  way  clear  to  solve  her 
transportation  problems.  As  a  horse  without  a 
saddle  would  hardly  do  for  her,  he  remounted 
and  rode  almost  to  town  on  the  main  road,  where 
he  borrowed  a  buggy.  Getting  back  again  he 
found  that  the  much-expected  herder  had  put  in 
his  appearance  with  a  man  to  help  him  ;  the  two 
were  now  out  with  the  sheep.  The  wagon  had  not 
arrived  because  the  bed  with  sheep-stalls  was  out 
of  repair  ;  a  second  helper  would  come  with  it  later 
in  the  day  and  in  the  meantime  Jonas  would  fol- 
low the  flock  with  his  wagon  and  two  yoke  of 
oxen. 

As  to  Mr.  Pete  Harding,  that  delinquent,  in- 
stead of  being  conscience-smitten  by  his  long  ab- 
sence, had  returned  as  one  who  is  the  bearer  of 
glad  tidings,  the  burden  of  his  song  being  that 
he  had  been  most  surpassingly  drunk.  Steve,  tak- 
ing into  consideration  that  the  man,  being  now 
satisfied  with  his  achievements  and  the  proud 
260 


The  Wrong  Woman 

possessor  of  a  headache,  would  settle  down  to 
the  simple  life  with  all  the  more  interest,  let  him 
off  without  a  word  of  reproof.  And  besides,  Mr. 
Brown,  though  he  did  not  say  so,  was  grateful  to 
the  man  for  having  stayed  away  as  long  as  he 
did. 

Thus  Steve  Brown  was  free  to  do  as  he  pleased. 
He  would  himself  take  Janet  to  her  destination 
at  the  county-seat ;  and  if  she  would  allow  him 
to,  —  he  seemed  to  lose  all  his  usual  self-confid- 
ence at  this  point  in  his  relations  toward  her, — 
he  would  wait  there  until  she  had  taken  the  ex- 
amination. And  then,  if  she  were  willing,  he 
would  take  her  wherever  she  wished  to  go.  Janet, 
protesting  mildly  against  putting  him  to  so  much 
trouble,  accepted  the  offer. 

"That's  the  best  thing  for  us  to  do,"  he 
said. 

So  it  was  decided ;  and  when  breakfast  was  over 
and  the  hieroglyphic  oil-coat  had  been  stowed 
under  the  seat  of  the  buggy,  Janet's  horse  got 
the  word  to  go. 

Not  without  regret,  nor  certain  light  allusions 
to  the  state  of  her  feelings,  did  Janet  part  company 
with  the  shack  and  the  now  familiar  prairie.  The 

261 


The  Wrong  Woman 

shack  had  been  a  house  to  her,  and  one  whose 
roof  and  walls  had  held  her  in  the  very  closest 
relations  ;  and  besides,  though  she  did  not  say  a 
word  about  this,  it  was  the  only  residence  she  had 
ever  met  which  she  could  possibly  imagine  her- 
self saving  up  enough  money  to  buy.  This  was 
one  of  its  secrets. 

Steve,  taking  a  route  of  his  own,  drove  twice 
through  the  waters  of  the  wandering  Comanche. 
At  these  wide  shallows,  Janet's  gossip  ceased 
while  she  held  to  his  coat-sleeve  and  kept  her  eye 
on  the  water  as  it  hurried  through  the  spokes 
and  rose  steadily  to  the  hub.  But  when  the  stout 
pony  pulled  them  up  the  opposite  bank  and  the 
road  lay  before  them  the  same  length  as  before, 
she  again  took  up  the  thread  of  the  conversation. 
As  everybody  knows,  a  conversation  can  lead  al- 
most anywhere  ;  the  talk  will  get  to  wherever  it 
is  going  by  some  route  as  long  as  words  point 
the  way,  and  always  the  story  of  one's  self  will 
leak  through  the  sentences  in  the  end.  And  where 
is  there  anything  so  conducive  to  the  objects  of 
conversation  as  a  Rockaway  buggy  wheeling  it 
over  the  cushioned  sward  and  the  flowers  troop- 
ing by  ?  We  are  not  going  to  intrude  upon  their 

262 


The  Wrong  Woman 

pleasant  situation ;  suffice  it  to  say  that  as  time 
passed  he  became  more  and  more  Steve  Brown 
and  she  became  increasingly  Janet. 

It  was  about  the  middle  of  the  forenoon  when 
they  reached  Belleville,  the  prairie  highway  be- 
coming now  a  shady  homestead  street,  with  South- 
ern cottages  ensconced  in  vines  and  shrubbery 
and  sheltered  by  prosperous  trees.  Presently  they 
turned  into  a  street  of  stores  which  delivered  them 
finally  to  a  hitching-rack  at  the  end  of  a  walk 
leading  up  to  the  steps  of  the  court-house. 

The  Professor,  it  devolved  upon  inquiry,  was 
busy  just  at  present,  but  if  the  young  lady  would 
step  up  to  his  room  he  would  give  her  an  examina- 
tion shortly.  Steve, being  thus  left  to  himself,  went 
outside  again.  At  the  side  of  the  gravel  walk  was  a 
green  bench  presided  over  by  a  china-berry  tree ;  he 
sat  down  here  and  waited.  Occasionally  a  passer-by 
diversified  thetenorof  his  waiting — nowa  straight- 
paced  lawyer  garbed  in  black  and  thinking  dark 
thoughts  ;  again,  a  leisurely  stockman  arrayed  like 
himself  with  sombrero  and  spurs.  His  own  spurs 
he  had  not  thought  to  remove  since  he  got  back 
that  morning.  The  little  town,  like  other  county 
capitals,  had  an  atmosphere  that  was  half  the  hush 

263 


The  Wrong  Woman 

of  the  court-room  and  partly  the  quiet  of  academic 
groves,  in  which  state  of  being  the  inhabitants 
were  peacefully  and  permanently  established,  the 
court-house  being,  in  truth,  Belleville's  principal 
industry. 

Having  nodded  to  several  and  encountered 
none  that  he  was  well  acquainted  with,  he  arose 
and  went  into  the  court-house  again.  After  a 
spell  of  indecision  in  the  corridor,  he  turned  and 
proceeded  up  the  dark-banistered  stairs  to  the 
second  story.  At  the  head  of  the  stairs  was  a  long 
hall  with  two  rows  of  doors  and  a  window  at  each 
end.  One  of  the  farther  doors  was  open,  but  gave 
forth  no  sound.  In  this  direction  he  turned  his 
steps,  —  ostensibly  toward  the  window  which  was 
invitingly  open,  —  and  as  he  passed  the  door  he 
turned  his  head  and  viewed  the  scene  of  the  "  ex- 
amination." The  place  was  filled  with  cast-iron 
desks  screwed  to  the  floor  and  surrounded  by 
blackboards ;  and  all  empty  except  for  the  seat 
which  held  Janet.  The  Professor,  elevated  on  a 
little  platform  with  a  table  before  him,  sat  side- 
wise  in  his  chair  out  of  regard  to  a  set  of  ques- 
tions which  he  had  chalked  upon  the  blackboard  ; 
meanwhile  he  tapped  the  table  with  his  finger- 

264 


IN  THE  VERY  MIDST  OF  THAT  DREAD  ORDEAL,  A  TEST 


The  Wrong  Woman 

nails  and  regarded  Janet  with  a  look  of  great  pro- 
fundity. It  was  a  speechless  process ;  he  wrote 
the  questions  on  the  blackboard,  she  wrote  the 
answers  on  the  paper.  Janet,  evidently  perplexed, 
bit  the  end  of  her  penholder.  She  turned  her  eyes 
to  the  door  as  Steve  passed  and  gave  him  a  fur- 
tive look.  It  made  him  feel  as  if  he  were  a  boy 
again  and  Janet  a  little  girl  being  kept  after  school. 

He  passed  onward  to  the  window.  Below  him 
was  a  view  of  the  court-house  yard,  and  through 
the  trees  a  glimpse  of  the  short  business  street. 
For  a  little  while  he  made  this  the  object  of  his 
attention,  then  he  turned  about  and  proceeded 
to  the  window  at  the  other  end.  As  he  passed 
the  door  he  turned  his  eyes  again  and  took  quick 
survey  of  affairs  inside  the  examination-room. 
The  other  window,  being  at  the  back  of  the  court- 
house, opened  upon  a  wide  prospect;  in  the  near 
distance  were  tree-hidden  cottages,  beyond  this 
scene  was  the  stretch  of  prairie  again.  Steve  sat 
down  on  the  sill  to  wait.  But  in  a  little  while  he 
got  up  and  went  back  to  the  first  window.  When 
he  passed  the  door  again  the  young  lady  blushed. 

Janet  was  now  in  the  very  midst  of  that  dread 
ordeal  known  as  a  "  test."  She  was  being  tried 

265 


The  Wrong  Woman 

for  her  life, — which  is  to  say  her  living,  —  and 
her  speechless  inquisitor  made  the  most  of  his 
attainments.  "  Give  the  source  and  course  of  the 
Volga."  Having  writ  down  that  cold-blooded 
query  he  ascended  his  dais  again  and  suppressed 
all  feelings  of  triumph.  Janet  again  put  the  pen- 
holder to  her  teeth.  Evidently  this  was  more  than 
the  young  lady  was  able  to  "give."  He  drummed 
on  the  wood  with  his  finger-nails;  otherwise  he 
sat  before  her  like  patience  on  a  pedestal.  His 
single  spectator,  feeling  herself  no  match  for  such 
a  brain,  was  beginning  to  abandon  all  hope  of 
passing. 

Steve  Brown,  having  gathered  some  inkling 
of  Janet's  mental  troubles,  was  beginning  to  have 
his  opinion  of  the  whole  procedure.  Seeing  her 
in  such  difficulty  he  had  a  feeling  of  revolt  against 
educational  things  in  general,  but  as  the  wrong 
seemed  to  be  beyond  his  individual  powers  to 
remedy,  he  could  only  make  another  trip  to  the 
end  of  the  hall.  Glancing  again  at  the  questions 
on  the  board  he  looked  in  vain  for  some  inquiry 
upon  the  subject  of  Climate.  There  did  not  seem 
to  be  even  one.  And  when  next  he  came  back, 
after  composing  himself  for  about  half  a  minute 

266 


The  Wrong  Woman 

on  the  window  ledge,  the  door  was  unceremoni- 
ously shut  in  his  face ! 

He  had  come  to  a  definite  stop  in  hope  of 
finding  at  least  one  question  upon  the  subject 
of  Climate ;  the  door  was  shut  in  his  face.  Con- 
fronting him  was  the  printed  legend  —  "County 
Superintendent."  His  heels  were  frozen  to  the 
floor.  If  it  had  not  been  that  it  was  an  improper 
and  very  unusual  thing  to  do,  he  could  have 
shot  each  particular  letter  of  that  announcement 
full  of  bullet  holes. 

The  remedy  for  this  peculiar  outrage  not  at 
once  presenting  itself,  he  turned  on  his  heel  and 
made  another  trip  to  the  farther  window  where 
he  at  once  came  face-about  and  began  patrolling 
the  hallway,  past  the  door  and  back  again,  his 
spurs  clicking  sharply  and  his  high  boot-heels 
punctuating  his  progress  as  if  every  step  put  a 
period  to  his  thoughts. 

As  he  thus  took  his  mind  a-walking,  every- 
thing about  Janet's  present  situation  struck  him 
in  a  light  more  obnoxious  and  foolish.  Examina- 
tion !  ExamilM/iiMr/  The  idea  of  that  girl  having 
to  go  to  that  fellow  to  be  tested !  The  idea  of 
bis  having  any  such  authority  over  her !  And  be- 
267 


The  Wrong  Woman 

sides,  if  that  little  Professor  really  wanted  to  get 
an  idea  of  her  merits,  why  did  n't  he  talk  to  her 
and  find  out  whether  she  had  common  sense  ? 
She  certainly  had  more  than  be  had.  As  if  any 
man  with  half  an  eye  could  n't  see  that  she  was 
the  very  person  to  teach  children  ! 

As  Janet's  situation  struck  him  more  deeply, 
and  he  began  to  realize  how  she  might  feel  if 
she  failed,  he  stopped  and  glared  again  at  that 
brazen  lettering.  Possibly  she  was  failing  now. 
He  felt  that  if  he  had  the  authority,  or  any  proper 
cause,  — which  he  could  hardly  make  out  that 
he  had, —  he  would  march  in  and  reform  the 
thing  right  then  and  there.  But  he  had  no 
authority.  The  other  fellow  had  the  authority. 
And  the  right  to  close  the  door  between  them ! 
This  being  actually  the  case  he  whirled  about 
and  resumed  his  marching  back  and  forth ;  and 
his  spurs  began  snapping  their  jaws  again. 

Janet,  when  she  saw  the  door  shut,  caught  her 
breath  and  paid  strict  attention  to  the  paper. 
The  examiner,  evidently  unconscious  of  any- 
thing but  his  own  precise  self,  went  officially  to 
the  blackboard  and  took  up  next  the  writing  of 
another  set  of  questions.  He  wrote  impromptu 

268 


The  Wrong  Woman 

and  with  considerable  readiness,  pausing  occasion- 
ally to  think  up  a  poser. 

Regularly  she  heard  her  escort  coming  down 
the  hall  on  his  return  trip,  and  each  time  she 
suspended  mental  operations  until  he  was  safely 
away  again.  About  the  time  that  she  had  done 
her  best,  and  worst,  to  the  subject  of  Geography, 
he  failed  to  pass  the  door ;  his  footsteps  seemed 
to  turn  with  a  new  and  lighter  expression  in  some 
other  direction.  Then  she  heard  no  more  of  him. 

The  next  subject  was  Grammar.  She  caught 
glimpses  of  the  questions  as  her  examiner  walked 
back  and  forth  from  one  end  of  a  sentence  to  the 
other.  As  grammar  is  a  subject  in  which  there  is 
some  limit  to  the  number  of  possible  questions, 
she  felt  that  she  now  had  an  advantage.  She 
would  now  do  wonders  providing  he  did  not  ask 
her  something  easy. 

Luckily  he  did  not.  She  pushed  Geography 
aside  and  took  a  new  sheet  of  foolscap  with  every 
prospect  of  passing.  At  first  it  had  looked  very 
much  as  if  she  were  going  to  fail. 

Steve's  withdrawal  had  merely  been  due  to  the 
sudden  realization  that  he  was  making  a  great 
deal  of  noise  in  the  court-house;  whereupon  he 

269 


The  Wrong  Woman 

saw  that,  all  things  considered,  he  could  contain 
himself  better  somewhere  else.  He  went  down 
the  stairs,  through  the  corridor,  and  out  of  the 
grounds.  Thence  his  feet  carried  him  clean  to 
the  other  side  of  town. 

When  he  found  himself  upon  the  silent  shore 
of  the  prairie  he  turned  about  with  the  intention 
of  going  straight  back,  but  he  was  three  times 
delayed,  first  at  the  hitching-rack  in  front  of 
"Hart's  General  Store,"  where  a  knot  of  story- 
tellers halted  him  to  tell  him  about  the  phe- 
nomenal good  time  of  his  herder,  and  again  in 
front  of  the  post-office,  where  another  group  of 
loiterers  had  to  be  listened  to ;  and  finally,  having 
made  his  escape  when  he  felt  that  it  was  high  time 
to  go,  he  had  the  bad  luck  to  run  into  Judge  Til- 
lotson,  whose  propensity  to  talk  was  such  that 
he  could  not  be  denied  a  hearing  without  good 
excuse. 

When  he  at  last  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the 
court-house  path,  he  saw  Janet  sitting  on  the 
bench  under  the  china-berry  tree.  How  long 
had  she  been  waiting  for  him  ?  As  she  caught 
sight  of  him  she  began  dabbing  her  eyes  hastily 
with  her  handkerchief.  Steve  saw  this.  His 

270 


The  Wrong  Woman 

stride  lengthened  as  he  came  up  the  path.  Hav- 
ing reached  the  bench  he  dropped  down  sud- 
denly beside  her,  his  arm  extended  along  the 
top  of  the  bench  at  her  back. 

"  How  did  you  make  out,  Miss  Janet  ?  " 
There  was  a  lugubrious  attempt  at  a  smile  as 
she  turned  her  eyes  toward  him.  The  tears  had 
been  put  into  her  pocket ;  but  still  he  could  see 
that  her  eyes  were  swimming.  To  him  they  looked 
more  wonderfully  gentle,  more  wholly  true  than 
any  eyes  he  had  ever  seen. 

"Well  — Mr.  Brown  — I  failed,"  she  said. 
"  What !  Did  n't  he  let  you  pass  ? " 
"I  already  had   a  third-class  certificate,  you 
know." 

"Yes;  but  that  is  n't  any  good  to  you." 
'No,"  she  said  meditatively.  "Even  second- 
class  would  have  got  me  that  school  near  Merrill. 
I  think  I  would  have  passed,  too,  if  he  had  only 
been  fair  in  Geography  and  History." 

"What?    Did  he  do  anything  that  wasn't  on 
the  square  ? "  he  asked  sternly. 

"Oh,  I  did  n't  mean  it  that  way.   It  is  always 
possible  to  be  unfair  in  Geography  and  History, 
you  know, —  and  besides  there  is  a  good  deal  of 
271 


The  Wrong  Woman 

luck  about  it,  too.  He  said  he  would  have  let  me 
pass,  but  he  had  decided  to  raise  the  standard." 

She  felt  his  arm  stiffen  behind  her  like  an  iron 
bar.  She  thought  he  was  going  to  rise. 

"  But  he  was  perfectly  fair,"  she  added  quickly. 

Steve's  muscle  relaxed  slowly ;  he  resumed  his 
former  lax  attitude  and  fell  to  thinking. 

"You  deserve  to  get  a  certificate  and  you 
didnt"  he  said,  suddenly  sitting  up  again.  "It 
is  n't  right" 

This  last  word  came  out  as  sharp  as  a  chal- 
lenge to  fight.  He  seemed  to  have  stiffened  up 
in  the  saddle  with  the  straight  look  of  indomit- 
able will.  Janet's  eyes  opened  wider  with  the 
impression  she  got  of  him. 

"Oh,  it  isn't  a  great  matter  —  except  that — 
of  course  —  it  is  a  little  disappointing." 

"Yes.  And  somebody  that  it  doesn't  make 
any  difference  about  will  come  along  and  pass." 
His  eye  still  had  fight  in  it.  "  You  like  Texas  ? " 
he  said  suddenly.  "  Don't  you  think  it  is  a  pretty 
good  state  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed,"   answered  Janet.    "  I  was 
very  much  in  hope  of  being  able  to  stay.   If  I  had 
only  had  more  time  to  study  —  more  time  —  " 
272 


The  Wrong  Woman 

There  was  a  quaver  in  her  voice,  and  she  let 
the  sentence  end  itself  there. 

He  sat  for  a  moment  looking  straight  at  the 
middle  of  the  path  before  him.  Then  deliberately 
he  turned  about,  put  his  arm  behind  her  again, 
and  took  her  hand  in  his. 

"  Janet,"  he  said,  "  if  you  had  been  here  in  two 
or  three  months  from  now,  there  was  a  question 
I  had  all  made  up  to  ask  you." 

"  A  question  ?  " 

"  As  long  as  you  might  have  to  go  away,  I 
might  as  well  tell  you  now  —  before  you  are  gone. 
I  was  going  to  ask  you  in  two  or  three  months 
whether,  if —  But  no.  That  is  n't  fair.  What  I 
mean  is,  will  you  marry  me  ?  Would  you  ?  " 

Janet  paused  during  a  space  that  would  best 
be  represented  by  a  musical  rest — a  silence  in  the 
midst  of  a  symphony.  Then  her  clear  eyes  turned 
toward  him. 

"Yes,  Steve;  I  would." 

"  You  would  !  Do  you  mean  that  now  —  for 
keeps  ? " 

"  I  could  go  and  live  with  you  anywhere  in  the 
world.  I  could  almost  have  answered  that  two 
days  ago." 

273 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Her  hand  was  taken  tighter  in  his  grasp.  The 
edge  of  his  sombrero  touched  the  top  of  her 
head,  and  she  felt  herself  being  taken  under  its 
broad  brim  with  a  sense  of  everlasting  shelter. 
And  just  then  they  were  interrupted.  A  visitor 
to  the  court-room  came  up  the  path  —  unnoticed 
till  he  was  almost  past.  At  the  same  time  there 
was  a  sound  of  footsteps  coming  down  the  court- 
house steps.  It  was  the  Professor.  Seeing  which 
Steve  released  her  hand  and  assumed  a  more 
conventional  public  attitude  until  this  particular 
spectator  should  be  gone.  The  Professor  passed. 
He  kept  on  his  way  down  the  path  and  did  not 
look  back;  whereupon  Steve  took  possession  of 
her  hand  again.  It  was  such  a  fine  delicate  hand 
to  him  —  so  small  and  tender  a  hand  to  have 
to  grapple  with  things  of  this  rough  world ;  he 
looked  at  it  thoughtfully  and  hefted  it  as  so  much 
precious  property  in  his  own. 

"  I  am  mighty  glad  you  said  that,"  he  offered. 
"  I  was  afraid  you  might  have  to  leave.  That 's 
why  I  wanted  you  to  pass." 

"And  that 's  why  I  wanted  to  pass,  too,"  she 
said. 

Now  that  the  coast  was  clear  they  resumed 
274 


The  Wrong  Woman 

their  confessions.  At  times  they  sat  in  silence, 
holding  hands. 

As  the  time  approached  when  they  ought  to 
start  back,  they  were  reminded  to  make  more 
definite  plans.  He  would  take  her  to  Merrill, 
leave  the  horse  and  buggy  there,  and  come  home 
to  Thornton  on  the  night  train.  On  the  follow- 
ing day  he  would  come  down  with  one  of  his  own 
horses  to  get  the  buggy  and  she  could  ride  up 
"  home "  with  him  and  catch  the  early  train 
back. 

"  I  want  you  to  come  up  right  away  and  look 
over  the  house  and  get  acquainted  with  the  neigh- 
borhood." 

"Are  we  going  to  have  nice  neighbors?  "  she 
asked. 

"  First-class.  A  mighty  fine  lot  of  folks. 
They  '11  all  put  themselves  out  to  accommodate 
you.  I  think  you'll  like  them." 

"  Oh,  I  know  I  shall,"  she  answered. 

"  And  I  '11  have  something  I  want  to  give  you, 
too.  And  we  can  talk  things  over  and  make  up 
our  minds  about  the  date.  I  don't  see  any  use 
in  waiting  a  long  time,  do  you  ?  " 

« Well  —  no  ;  not  too  long.    But   of  course 

275 


The  Wrong  Woman 

there  are  quite  a  number  of  things  that  need  to 
be  done  first." 

"  Yes  —  of  course,"  he  mused.  "  Quite  a  num- 
ber of  things  that  have  to  be  done.  And  there  's 
the  license  to  get,  too,"  looking  up  suddenly  at 
the  court-house. 

"What!  — right  now?" 

"  We  might  as  well  get  it  while  we  're  right 
here,  don't  you  think?  I  might  have  to  come  out 
here  after  it  any  way  —  and  maybe  the  Comanche 
would  be  up  and  on  a  rampage.  Here  we  are 
right  now.  And  there 's  the  court-house." 

"It  does  seem  the  most  sensible  way  —  of 
course.  You  had  better  do  whatever  you  think 
best." 

Upon  receiving  this  commission  he  arose  and 
proceeded  for  the  license.  As  he  set  foot  upon 
the  court-house  steps  he  paused  and  looked  back 
at  her.  He  was  straight  as  a  ramrod  ;  there  was 
self-confidence  in  his  carriage  and  pride  in  his 
mien. 

"  I  '11  bet  ten  dollars  / '//  pass,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XII 

SUSIE'S  ma  —  she  who  made  the  "real  North- 
ern "  pie  —  was  busy  in  her  kitchen.  A  dishpan- 
ful  of  dough,  which  had  risen  till  it  overhung  the 
edges  of  the  pan,  indicated  that  it  was  high  time 
to  knead  a  batch  of  bread.  She  was  just  clearing 
the  table  with  this  end  in  view  when  she  heard 
a  familiar  sound  in  the  distance,  and  going  to  the 
window  she  saw  that  Jonas  Hicks  was  at  home 
again.  He  turned  loose  his  "  string,"  now  reduced 
to  two  yoke,  and  went  into  the  house. 

While  it  was  no  unusual  thing  for  Jonas  to  go 
into  the  house,  it  was  seldom  that  he  stayed  long, 
for  which  reason  Mrs.  Berry  tarried  at  the  win- 
dow in  expectation  of  getting  another  sight  of 
him.  While  she  was  thus  waiting  she  saw  Mrs. 
Harmon  making  her  way  across  the  open.  Evid- 
ently she  was  bound  for  Jonas's  house.  She  had 
hardly  reached  the  door  when  Mrs.  Norton  and 
Kitty  Wright  made  their  appearance  on  Claxton 
Road,  arm  in  arm.  They  turned  off  the  road  and 
bent  their  steps  in  the  same  direction.  In  a  little 
277 


The  Wrong  Woman 

while  Mrs.  Plympton  and  another  of  her  aristo- 
cratic neighbors  issued  forth  and  joined  company, 
walking  faster.  They  too  struck  out  across  the 
common.  What  might  this  mean  ? 

To  Mrs.  Berry,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  un- 
returned  rockery,  and  nothing  of  the  mysterious 
doings  of  Steve  Brown,  this  was  a  question  which 
called  for  an  answer. 

Evidently  it  was  no  preconcerted  move.  Mrs. 
Berry,  being  a  woman,  could  see,  from  various 
indications  of  dress  and  manner,  that  each  of  them 
was  going  simply  because  she  had  seen  the  other 
do  so,  and  this  was  reason  enough ;  but  still,  be- 
hind it  all,  there  must  have  been  some  original 
reason  ;  and  what  was  it  ? 

Mrs.  Berry  proceeded  to  the  kitchen  and  faced 
her  work.  She  addressed  her  remarks  particularly 
to  the  dough. 

"  Well,  I  guess  I  can  just  let  my  work  go  for 
once  in  my  life,"  she  said.  She  spread  out  her 
hands  and  pushed  down  the  dough  till  it  was 
about  half  its  former  size.  "  There,  now,"  she 
said.  "  Rise  again." 

Donning  a  clean  apron  and  her  best  hat,  and 
giving  Susan  some  parting  instructions,  she  opened 

278 


The  Wrong  Woman 

the  door  and  set  forth  for  the  common  destina- 
tion. Mrs.  Berry  had  the  courage  of  her  curiosity. 
She  was  not  meddlesome,  but  only  interested ; 
and  as  there  was  nothing  whatever  between  her 
and  what  she  saw  in  the  world, —  not  even  an  edu- 
cation, —  she  dealt  with  life  in  her  own  resource- 
ful way.  Mrs.  Berry  was  a  "  railroad  widow  " ;  she 
supported  herself  and  Susan  by  ceaseless  industry 
helped  out  by  a  small  income  received  from  "  the 
Company  "  when  her  husband  was  killed  in  the 
faithful  discharge  of  his  duty. 

By  the  time  she  had  put  in  her  appearance  at 
Jonas's  ever-open  door,  the  ladies  had  come  to 
a  period  in  their  conference  with  Jonas  and  now 
they  were  engaged  in  expressing  various  sorts  of 
surprise.  They  were  quite  astonished  at  some- 
thing—  whatever  the  nature  of  it  might  be. 

"  Yes,  she  had  on  that  kind  of  a  hat,"  Jonas 
was  saying.  "  But  she  ain't  any  woman  from 
around  here.  She  is  a  school-teacher  and  edu- 
cated. I  know  her." 

There  was  another  chorus   of  "I  declare!' 
which  came  to  a  stop  as  Mrs.  Berry  rapped  on 
the  door-jamb ;  then  all  reference  to  their  busi- 
ness was  dropped  as  they  welcomed  her  in  and 
279 


The  Wrong  Woman 

made  the  usual  polite  inquiries  regarding  herself 
and  little  Susan.  Mrs.  Berry  seated  herself  in  the 
proffered  chair  without  any  reference  to  what  the 
nature  of  her  own  errand  might  have  been.  When 
it  was  seen  that  she  had  settled  down  to  stay, 
Mrs.  Harmon  took  in  hand  to  make  everything 
plain  and  open.  They  had  just  received  news 
that  Mr.  Brown  was  engaged  to  be  married.  It 
was  this,  Mrs.  Harmon  explained,  that  they  had 
all  been  talking  over,  and  they  were  all  very  much 
delighted.  Mrs.  Berry,  on  her  part,  was  not  a 
whit  less  interested  in  such  things  than  the  rest 
of  them ;  she  expressed  her  opinion  that  it  was 
really  the  best  thing  for  a  man  to  do.  With 
which  sentiment  they  all  agreed.  Then  Jonas 
spoke. 

"You  see,  Mrs.  Berry,"  he  said,  "  Steve  and 
the  young  lady  passed  me  on  the  road  coming  in 
from  the  ranch;  and  they  stopped  and  told  me  all 
about  it.  They  just  got  engaged  to-day." 

"Oh,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Berry.  And  then  she 
created  consternation  by  a  most  embarrassing 
question.  "And  were  you  all  expecting  it?" 

"Well  —  yes.  We  rather  suspected  it,  you 
know,"  put  in  Mrs.  Harmon,  viewing  her  be- 

280 


The  Wrong  Woman 

nignly.  "We  heard  in  a  roundabout  way  that  Mr. 
Brown  was  paying  attention  to  a  young  lady." 

This  crisis  safely  passed,  gossip  revived  and 
took  on  new  life,  in  the  course  of  which  Mrs. 
Berry  gathered  a  few  details  regarding  the  bride- 
elect.  Talk  had  not  proceeded  far,  however,  when 
Mrs.  Harmon  rose  and  stationed  herself  behind 
Jonas's  kitchen  table. 

"Ladies,"  she  said,  "  I  think  that,  just  at  this 
time,  and  while  we  are  all  together,  we  had  better 
call  a  meeting  of  the  Circle."  She  took  up  Jo- 
nas's long-handled  batter-spoon  and  rapped  three 
times  on  the  table.  The  result  was  that  they  all 
sat  up  a  little  straighter  and  came  to  order.  "  As 
you  are  all  aware,"  she  continued,"  the  business  of 
our  last  meeting  was  left  in  a  rather  unfinished 
and  unsatisfactory  state.  It  has  just  occurred  to 
me  that  there  is  a  little  point  that  ought  to  be 
taken  up  promptly  and  brought  to  a  general  un- 
derstanding. I  would  suggest  that  anything  in 
our  last  meeting  which  might  be  of  a  —  Star 
Chamber  nature  —  be  expunged  from  the  records, 
verbal  and  otherwise.  In  every  sense  I  mean 
—  entirely.  Will  some  one  make  a  motion  to 
that  effect  ? " 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Kitty  Wright  arose  to  the  occasion. 

"  I  move,"  she  said,  "that  the  proceedings  of 
the  last  meeting  be  expunged.  And  that  it  be  un- 
derstood that  it  be  considered  a  permanent  meet- 
ing of  the  committee  of  the  whole  behind  closed 
doors.  Also  that  it  be  understood  that  any  mem- 
ber—  such  as  Mrs.  Plympton,  for  instance — is 
entitled  to  vote  now,  and  make  inquiries  from  any 
of  her  sisters,  at  any  time,  regarding  the  nature 
of  the  present  parliamentary  vocabulary." 

"Second  the  motion,"  said  Mrs.  Plympton. 

"  Moved  and  seconded  that  the  last  meeting 
be  of  the  aforesaid  nature." 

The  motion  was  carried. 

"And  now,"  said  Mrs.  Harmon,  rapping  again 
with  the  spoon,  "as  this  little  matter  is  tended 
to,  I  think  it  no  more  than  proper,  in  view  of 
the  pleasant  news  we  have  just  received,  that  we 
turn  our  attention,  while  the  opportunity  offers, 
to  an  entirely  different  matter."  Here  she  turned 
a  wary  glance  in  the  direction  of  the  much- 
mystified  Mrs.  Berry.  "While  we  are  all  here  I 
think  it  would  be  a  matter  of  pleasure  to  all  con- 
cerned that  we  make  some  plans  for  the  proper 
treatment  of  the  young  lady  who  is  going  to  settle 

282 


The  Wrong  Woman 

among  us.  Possibly  we  could  do  something  to 
entertain  her  and  make  her  feel  at  home.  If  any 
of  you  have  an  idea  on  which  we  could  act,  mo- 
tions to  that  effect  will  now  be  in  order." 

"Mrs.  President,"  said  Kitty  Wright,  rising 
to  her  feet,  "I  think  that  would  be  just  lovely. 
I  move  that  when  Miss  Smith  arrives  to-morrow 
she  be  invited  to  a  chicken  dinner  at  the  home 
of  our  worthy  President;  and  that  two  members 
of  the  Circle  be  invited,  including  myself." 

"  Second  the  motion,"  said  Mrs.  Norton. 

"Moved  and  seconded  that  the  young  lady 
and  her  escort  be  invited  to  dinner  at  the  home 
of  the  President,  and  that  Mrs.  Wright  and  Mrs. 
Norton  include  themselves.  Are  you  ready  for 
the  question?" 

"  Question." 

The  motion  was  carried. 

"  Mrs.  President,"  said  Mrs.  Plympton,  rising 
and  receiving  recognition,  "I  understand  from 
the  information  that  has  been  conveyed  to  us  by 
Mr.  Hicks,  that  the  wedding  is  not  likely  to  be 
put  off  to  a  very  late  day.  It  may  occur  very 
soon;  therefore  any  plans  that  we  may  have  in 
that  regard  ought  to  be  set  in  motion  at  once. 
283 


The  Wrong  Woman 

Now,  I  have  just  been  thinking  that  I  have  those 
fifty  Japanese  lanterns  which  we  used  in  the  lawn 
festival.  I  move  that  a  committee  be  appointed, 
at  the  pleasure  of  the  President,  to  begin  arrange- 
ments for  celebrating  the  return  of  the  bridal 
couple  with  a  reception  al  fresco  in  our  peach  or- 
chard. And  that  the  Colonel  be  notified  to  have 
his  barn  in  readiness  for  another  dance." 

The  motion  was  seconded  and  carried  by  ex- 
tra unanimous  vote. 

Mrs.  Harmon  paused  a  moment  before  bring- 
ing the  meeting  to  an  end.  While  she  was  hesi- 
tating a  chair  scraped  behind  her  and  Mrs.  Berry 
took  the  floor. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  belong  to  this  here  Circle," 
said  Mrs.  Berry,  "but  anyway  I  guess  I  belong 
to  the  Square."  A  murmur  of  approval  showed 
that  they  appreciated  this  view,  referring  as  it  did 
to  that  rectangular  neighborhood  surrounding 
Jonas's  twenty  acres.  "  I  guess  I  belong  to  the 
Square.  And  I  have  just  been  thinking  that  as 
long  as  Mr.  Brown  has  been  living  alone  around 
that  house  he  has  probably  got  it  into  a  pretty 
bad  mess.  Most  likely  the  kitchen  is  a  sight  and 
the  place  is  all  out  of  order.  Somebody  ought  to 

284 


The  Wrong  Woman 

go  over  and  sweep  and  dust  and  scrub  and  red 
things  up.  If  the  young  lady  was  to  come  along 
to-morrow  and  see  things  like  that  she  would 
think  we  was  a  -pretty  sort  of  a  neighborhood.  I 
move  and  second  that  I  go  and  do  it." 

Without  a  dissenting  vote,  this  motion  was 
carried. 

Mrs.  Harmon  was  about  to  declare  the  meet- 
ing adjourned ;  but  she  paused  with  her  spoon 
in  the  air.  "  Mr.  Hicks,"  she  said,  turning  her 
head  in  his  direction,  "  I  believe  you  understand 
about  the  rockery  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Jonas,  rising.  "  I  '11  tend  to 
that  all  right.  I  '11  get  them  back  and  fixed  just 
the  same  as  before.  And  as  long  as  everybody 
is  bearing  witness,  I  might  as  well  do  the  same, 
as  the  cat  said  when  she  got  caught  in  the  mouse- 
trap. Most  likely,  if  Steve  has  been  hauling  things 
around  in  that  house,  there  will  be  lots  of  heavy 
lifting  and  tall  reaching  that  needs  to  be  done; 
so  if  Mrs.  Berry  is  going  over  there  to  fix  up 
I  guess  I  '11  go  along  too." 

Upon  this  the  batter-spoon  came  down  and 
the  meeting  was  declared  adjourned.  But  though 
it  was  adjourned,  it  did  not  immediately  dis- 

285 


The  Wrong  Woman 

perse  —  women's  meetings  seldom  do.  Such  de- 
lightful duties  being  in  the  air,  they  had  to  be 
dwelt  upon  and  enlarged,  and  Jonas  had  to  bring 
forth  further  details  of  his  favorable  impressions 
of  the  young  lady.  And  did  he  do  her  justice  ? 
Did  he  let  them  understand  how  well-bred  and 
refined  and  good-looking  she  was  ?  Did  he,  in 
short,  convey  the  information  that  she  was  just 
about  the  sweetest  and  most  delightful  and  charm- 
ing young  lady  that  ever  set  foot  on  the  soil  of 
Texas  ?  I  think,  dear  reader,  that  we  may  safely 
intrust  that  duty  to  Mr.  Jonas  Hicks. 


THE  END 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U   .   S    .   A 


uc  aounew  REOOMI  UVMHT  MOJTV 


A     000  036  271     5 


